


L'Année Dernière

by Yilena



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fantasy, Minor Character Death, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:30:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: With the arrival of a new neighbour, Marinette's life brightens up considerably. After a shaky start, she falls in love over too many baked goods, his soft touches, and the way his smile made her feel warm and happy. AU.





	L'Année Dernière

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bee_emey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bee_emey/gifts).



> For _miraculous-monogatari_. I really hope you like it! It got a bit more... sad than I thought it would be in the beginning. The plot drove me crazy for a bit, but I tried to do something original(?), who knows if I've actually succeeded there or not, haha. The ending's a little ambiguous, but it's absolutely fine to take it positively. I thought it fit better than continuing on for a while when there's no plot to develop.

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

While her friends knew that they would be more successful in messaging her, rather than calling or appearing in person and knocking on her door, there were some that didn't know that. So, when a series of knocks continued to sound from the front door despite the early hour in the morning, Marinette cautiously approached the door.

She undid the chain audibly, causing them to stop their knocking, and only opened the door a little bit to peer out.

“Hi!” they said brightly, tilting their body to see her in a matter of moments. It was a male from what she could see, one that was holding some sort of plate in his hands. “You live here, yeah?”

She squinted at him.

“Dumb question,” he admitted, laughing. The sound was slightly high-pitched, clearly a bit nervous. And as he adjusted his grip on the plate to only one hand, he used the other to gesture between it and her. “These are for you—well, if you live here, that is. I just came over to give them to my new neighbour.”

Although she wasn't relaxed, Marinette opened the door further to be able to see clearer. He didn't seem to have bad intentions, not from the plate of baked goods that was being offered to her, only a bit of cling film on it to protect it, and it was that that had her cautiously opening herself up.

“I live here,” she stated.

And as she looked up to his face, he was grinning widely. “That is good news, then. I wouldn't want to be giving these to just anyone.”

But it wasn't the smile that was holding her attention.

His hair was blond.

With her heartbeat started to pump loudly in her chest, Marinette's reaction was to slam the door shut, trying to ignore the shocked sound that escaped him, quickly putting the chain back on, the locks being put back into place.

It—it shouldn't have been possible, but the colours had caught her off-guard, the thoughts immediately running through her head, the very ones that she tried to push aside, try to tell herself that they really didn't exist—

Her vision grew blurry, sound seeming to be blurred out as she fell down onto her knees, running her hands through her hair and gripping tightly at the ends, clenching her eyes shut as if to block out the thoughts. But as they kept coming, along with all the negative emotions, she was barely aware of how she'd started to shake.

And when she'd finally calmed down, suddenly feeling exhausted and as though she'd missed out on so much time, she had frustrated tears in the corners of her eyes. With a clammy hand, she reached up to wipe at both, brushing her dark-coloured hair away from her face, caught between feeling ashamed of herself or just plain stressed.

It really wasn't a good way to start her day.

Marinette tried to forget it, to focus on the other things in her life, but her thoughts continued to wander back to her new neighbour had been outside of her door. While he had looked like all the things she'd wanted to forget—an impossible feat that shouldn't have triggered her, but many had done so for less in the past—it hadn't been fair for her to take it out on someone so innocent.

She'd been unbelievably rude.

Her mother would've been terribly upset.

But her limbs felt heavy, eyes tired, and she mostly sat on her sofa with her legs tucked up against her chest, chin resting on her knees, staring blankly at the screen for a few hours. She didn't have the motivation to do much, not even apologise to him, as she didn't know what apartment he lived in.

She hadn't even been aware that her neighbour moved out, that was how detached she was.

It was only when she got a message from her best friend—the specialised sound coming from her cell phone—that she wandered into her bedroom to find the device.

Although they were close, she didn't want to vent her problems to her. There was a lot of things that she tried to keep to herself, mostly her worries and any type of triggers that happened to ruin the rest of the day afterwards, as she didn't want to explain everything. It was only natural that they were curious, of course, and even when they patted her arm gently and tried to comfort her, quiet and not asking any questions, it was obvious that they wanted some kind of an answer to know what had happened.

And Marinette wanted to avoid that.

Her neighbour had just caught her off-guard, that was all.

It was almost a week later that she finally worked up the courage to wander outside, on her way to deliver the package that she'd placed into her bag, and her inspected the little decorations that her neighbours always had outside to see who had moved.

The walls were quite thick, thankfully, so it wasn't as though she heard much noise often. It would've been awkward if they could hear her sobbing at times, but that wasn't the case.

The patterned flower pot that she'd always seen had disappeared, along with the sign that had the door's number painted on it cutely.

She'd been a fan of them.

Running a hand through her dark-coloured hair, Marinette took in a deep breath before she pressed the button to ring the bell, counting the seconds that passed.

She was prepared that time—didn't tense, no outward reaction to the male that opened the door. It wasn't as though she always reacted to anyone like that; she'd simply been tired, the day having only just begun, and hadn't really been ready to see anyone new.

She should've been more calm before answering the door, or simply ignored it.

The male was staring at her cautiously once he'd opened the door fully, not the cautious stance that she'd taken. She could see past him, into the hallway with opened boxes on the floor, and see how he wasn't wearing any shoes, his trousers rolled up to show his ankles.

“Hello,” she said, calm, not at all panicking. “I'm—I wasn't quite sure if this was the right place, but I'm here to apologise for last time.”

He shifted on his feet, using one hand to hold onto the door. “You mean when you slammed the door on me?”

Marinette didn't wince. “Yes,” she confirmed, staring him straight in the eyes, trying to note down anything special about him. “It was rude of me, and definitely not the first impression I wanted you to have of me. It was just—it was a really bad day for me.”

He reached up to touch the nape of his neck, curiosity written clear across his expression. “And you really came over just to apologise for that?”

It was an honest question, it seemed. “Yes.”

“You didn't have to,” he said, hand falling down to his side as he shrugged. “I wasn't that offended, to be honest. Bit presumptuous of me to go over there in the first place.”

“No, it...” Marinette trailed off, pulling the sleeve of her shirt down, feeling a little nervous from the unexpected term of their conversation. “It was nice of you. I'm... I wasn't really in the right state for company, that was all. It was a sweet gesture to bring over the—well, the food.”

He squinted. “You're not here to get them back, are you?”

She shook her head. “I didn't even think of that.”

“Good.” He sounded almost pleased. “I already watched my friend eat all of them after your rejection, so that can't be undone.”

It was clearly a joke, something to break the little bit of awkwardness between them, but all she could find herself drawn to was staring up at him, suddenly realising the height difference that was clear when they were both standing upright in front of each other.

She didn't think she even came up to his shoulders.

Marinette took a subtle step back. “I—I hope they enjoyed them?”

It definitely came out sounding like a question.

“He did.” He grinned, dimples appearing on his cheek as he did so. “He's always asking for more, but it's only rare for me to actually have some leftover. I think he's convinced you're some sort of an angel.”

She tugged her sleeve down so it was covering half of her hand. “Okay?”

“Oh, right.” And that seemed to make a thought occurred to him, as he visibly perked up and offered a hand out to her. “I'm Adrien, by the way. Your new neighbour, as you can tell.”

Rather than focus on the blond hair, she chose to stare down at his hand, hesitantly clasping it with her own. “Marinette.”

“Marinette,” he repeated, thoughtful. “I've heard that name a few times now. I never thought it would be so popular. I'd never heard of any until... well, the past year or so, I believe.”

It was such unnecessary information, a clear sign that he wanted to try and extend the conversation, but since she'd already apologised, all Marinette wanted to do was leave.

So, it was gingerly that she took her own hand back after shaking his, clutching onto the strap of her bag that was hanging from her one shoulder, taking another step back from him. “I have to go,” she blurted, a bit louder than all her previous words. “Good-bye.”

She didn't leave much room for him to reply, instead turning around, marching down the other side to reach the outdoor stairs. It wasn't some swanky building that they lived in; as soon as she stepped outside of her apartment, she was susceptible to the weather of the outside, no indoor hallways to keep her dry and safe. It wasn't the best, or even the cheapest, but the location was one of the most desirable that she could find.

It helped that most of the occupants of the building were either middle-aged or elderly, easy to get along with, but she did find herself helping them with their grocers to get up the stairs some days.

With that awkward apology and interruption out of the way, Marinette was pleased that she'd fulfilled her goal. They probably wouldn't do anything more than see each other in passing a few times, perhaps walk beside each other on the stairs, but that would be it.

She really hadn't planned on seeing him again any time soon.

But that wasn't how it worked out.

It was three days later that she woke up to knocks on her door.

She'd stayed up too late the night before, indulging herself since she'd just finished a commission that had been on her mind, and it was because of that that she was sluggish as she walked across her apartment.

The chain and locks were undone clumsily, so slowly that she almost expected for Adrien to be gone by the time she'd opened the door, but he was there, beaming, with an apron covering most of his front with flour all over it.

She opened the door wider than before. “Yes?”

“Marinette!” he greeted, voice as loud as his appearance demanded attention. “I was getting kind of bored at home, and I just—wait, I didn't wake you up, did I?”

For most, they probably would've told him the negative, tried to say that they'd been awake for a while despite the grogginess of their voice—but she wasn't like that.

“You did,” Marinette confirmed, reaching up to press her hand against one of her eyes, attempting to make herself feel more alert. “Is there a reason why you're here?”

“Oh, right.” He cleared his throat, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I was just—I was wondering you'd like any leftovers of what I'm baking? I made too much, you see, and I thought of how you didn't get any last time—”

It was so _unnatural_ , that was all she could really notice at that moment. Adrien's smile wasn't reaching his eyes, and he was clearly trying to spend time with her, something that baffled her greatly. Marinette had expected to wave at him in passing, not have him coming to her door with dirty clothes and a fake smile as he tried to get her attention.

It wasn't sincere at all.

“No, thank you,” she said, closing the door a little more than it had been, taking a meaningful step back. “Now, if that's all...”

There was no denying how his expression fell flat. “Right.”

“Good-bye,” she offered, eyes flickering back down to his dirty apron before meeting his gaze once more.

His smile really did seem forced then. “Bye.”

It was utterly baffling.

-x-

That wasn't Adrien's only attempt to talk to her.

Marinette felt increasingly uncomfortable with every attempt that he made. Whether it was her climbing up the stairs to get to their floor, jumping in surprise when he called out, waving a hand excitedly and trying to call her over to him, or when they bumped into each other at the local store—

It had her heart racing, breaths coming a bit fast, and when it became apparent that she almost felt terrified to step out of her door, that was she realised that it was becoming a problem.

She had her own problems, sure, but the new development wasn't the usual thing that she would've talked to her therapist about. If anything, it was what would've had her running back to them, despite her wanting to pay her own bills, and therefore not able to afford one on her own.

It was only because of the prescribed medicine that she was doing okay on her own.

Her parents had worried about her, of course. Marinette had ended up living at home, travelling to university for the classes for one year after it had started to become too much to live in the dorm. It just hadn't been the environment for her; from the drunken students that she'd bump into on her way to the dorm she was staying at, or how close everyone lived to each other, let alone the lack of safety—there wasn't even a good system for checking who was coming and going.

And the walls had been thin, too.

Not at all like her apartment.

Adrien had almost cornered her when she'd been taking out her rubbish, such a short distance that he'd popped out from, leaning over the railing from their floor, calling out to her by the bins.

No one else had done that to her before.

Skittish was the best word people could describe her with. It had taken a few years for her to fully accept that, once she'd finally stopped trying to pretend that she didn't have anything wrong with her.

That wasn't quite right, though. She didn't like to think that there was something _wrong_ ; rather, it was just shitty circumstances that had been given to her—

And at that moment, the worst of all was her new neighbour making her uncomfortable.

Marinette wasn't meek. She wasn't the defenceless little girl that she used to be—she wasn't anything of the sort.

So, when he called out to her the following morning, waving energetically after she'd returned from delivering a parcel, that was when she was reaching the end of her tether. That day marked close to a month since he'd moved in, and for almost three weeks, he'd been pestering her more than everyone else on their floor combined.

And she really wasn't having that.

Marinette paused, the hand that was holding onto the strap of her bag tightening. Standing on the opposite end, having only just climbed up the stairs, Adrien took that as a sign of her accepting the inevitable, jogging over to stand in front of her, slippers still on his feet, indicating that he really hadn't intended to come outside.

And that made it even worse. Had he been waiting to catch sight of her?

“Hey!” he started, putting his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Where did you go off to so early in the morning? I thought you were a night owl.”

He didn't have any right to know her at all. They'd barely spent half an hour in each other's presence in the past month, and yet he was making assumptions about her.

Her hand curled into a fist. “Pardon?”

“I saw you leaving earlier,” he said, gesturing back to his door. And unlike hers—she'd chosen to cover hers from the inside—the small window beside his was left freely open so she'd be able to peer into his apartment from the outside. “It's not too weird of me to be curious, right?”

But it was, it really was.

Marinette took a step forward. “It is, actually,” she stated, irritation coating her every word. “Everything about you is right now. Why are you—why are you always _bothering_ me?”

“Bothering?” he repeated, bewildered. “I—what?”

And if the sign of actual surprise on his expression didn't make her deflate, it was his genuine question that did. With a sigh, she ran a hand through her hair as she pleaded, “Please, just—leave me alone.”

“Marinette—”

“I really don't know what you want from me,” she started, swallowing thickly. “But you make me uncomfortable. And I don't like that.”

It wasn't just his appearance that caught her off-guard. Everything that he'd done since moving in towards her had been weird, overly enthusiastic, and not at all what someone should do.

It was him that took the step back. “I do?”

“You do,” she confirmed, bravely looking up and meeting his gaze. “You keep—keep cornering me when I come outside, and it's like... I don't know, but I just don't like it, okay?”

She could hear it as he swallowed.

Her heart was pounding nervously in her chest, hands close to shaking from how confrontation she was being. She didn't know him at all—while he hadn't touched her inappropriately, or any further than their handshake, there wasn't any way of telling what he would do if he grew angry in return to her words.

Marinette just wanted the situation over.

“I'm not sorry for being rude,” she blurted. “Not this time. I really—I just don't want anything to do with you, okay? Whether it's your cooking or just to talk in the mornings, I don't want any of it.”

But rather than anger, her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she caught sight of him blinking rapidly, trying to rid himself of the moisture that had started to build up in his eyes.

She really wasn't going to apologise to him.

“I understand,” he said, voice thick and giving any the emotions that he was feeling. If she hadn't already noticed the tears that were being restrained, she really would've then. “I'm—I'm sorry, Marinette. I'll leave you alone.”

There wasn't anything to say that he really meant those words. For all she knew, he could've just been saying it at that moment, and would've turned around in a few days to continue what he had been doing in the past.

She didn't say anything else to him—there wasn't anything she could say.

Her hands were still shaking once she'd slid the chain in place on her door.

-x-

When she told her closest friend, she was fully on her side.

Chloé was the one that proposed to two of them going out to get a hot drink together, along with something sweet at the local bakery that had recently opened up. It was a short distance, one she could walk and not have to get any kind of transport, so it was with a cardigan on to cover her from the slight chill that summer day that she ventured out.

Adrien really hadn't bothered her since the confrontation.

Marinette had caught sight of him once when she was taking her rubbish out, but he'd already disappeared inside his apartment by the time she'd made it back to her door.

She refused to feel guilty.

Chloé was everything that she wasn't; tall, confident, with blonde-coloured hair and an attitude to match her good looks. It had been terribly awkward in school, the two of them not quite connecting properly, and it was only during their last year of classes together that they'd actually gotten to know one another properly due to having been assigned a project to work on in a small group.

There was no denying that Marinette had been an awkward teenager; stubborn, her temper erratic and medication not quite prescribed properly or sorted out, and the therapy that she went to wasn't a secret.

Children were mean, no matter the age.

It just so happened that Chloé grew out of being mean to her.

“So,” Chloé started as they sat down across from each other. She'd already been filled in on what happenings of Marinette's life over text—as Marinette preferred not to answer the phone more often than not—and it was only every so often that they met up together. “I neglect you for a little bit and you basically make an arch enemy?”

She choked out a laugh at that. “I don't think that's quite right.”

“Well, it's someone that I want to kick in the shins,” Chloé stated, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms. “But I trust you. If you say I don't need to punch him, I won't.”

Back in the day, when they'd barely interacted, Marinette had never expected the friendship that had sprouted between them. “You really don't.”

“If you're _sure_ ,” Chloé reiterated.

Chloé was very spirited, that was one way of describing her. She came off as hot-headed, rude, and very blunt when she first met someone, but that was just the way that she was—Marinette had grown to learn when she actually meant her harsh words, which was hardly ever, and it made her sad whenever someone else didn't take the time to learn that about Chloé.

She was a good friend.

While Marinette had moved away from home to a quieter area of the city, wanting to be away from the large crowds and rowdy streets, Chloé still lived in the thick of it. She'd pursued a modelling career, gained a large following online on social media for her good looks, and it meant that they were rarely able to meet up due to Chloé's busy schedule.

On the days where she was feeling self-conscious, she wondered how long it would take for Chloé to push her aside, but she knew that that wouldn't ever happen, not when Chloé had taken her sweet time to befriend her (from Chloé's own words, the statement completed with her checking her nails).

She had other friends, but none were as close, hadn't seen as much of her worries, as Chloé.

There had been once upon a time where Chloé's harsh words had caused tears to well up in her eyes, but they were past that. The only thing that made Marinette cry the past few months had been her own fears, the unknown darkness when she wandered into her apartment and started to check the corners to see whether she was safe.

It was tiring.

“Do you—” Chloé cut herself off, clearing her throat. “You're fine, right?”

It took a lot for her to ask that. Chloé was always awkward with her feelings, finding it hard to be direct when it was something positive, and Marinette had her suspicions on why that was. The two of them rarely opened up about their problems of the past, choosing to ignore them stubbornly and pretend that they didn't exist.

“I'm okay,” Marinette said, fiddling with the napkin on the table, her eyes darting over Chloé's shoulder to see whether their drinks were on the way yet. “Everything's—everything's the same.”

There was a lot of implications to her answer.

But Chloé didn't press for any more. “That's good,” she said, reaching up and brushing the long strands of her hair over her shoulder, a move that was often turned into gifs when she posted short stories to her social media. “Still, you can call me if you need to vent or something.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I'd rather not.”

“Then, text me and vent without any punctuation.”

“That sounds even worse,” Marinette said with a laugh. “He hasn't bothered me for a while, okay? The last time was... I think it was almost two weeks ago? You really don't need to worry any more.”

Chloé sniffed. “As if I'd worry about you.”

“You literally dragged me out here once I told you my woes.”

“Well, _someone_ had to see whether you were actually okay or not,” she defended herself, putting one thigh on top of the other. “It's not my fault you prefer me over everyone else—no, wait. That is my fault for being so great.”

Marinette's voice wobbled with restrained laughter as she replied, “If that helps you sleep at night, sure.”

Chloé shot her a dirty look. “My two million followers assure me that I'm very much right.”

“And I'm sure you're checking that number daily.” If they were sat closer, she would've reached out to pat her arm condescendingly. “What else have you been doing with yourself, then? Other than the stuff I can see online, or the bits you've told me.”

Chloé's grin grew. “There was this guy—”

“And other than your love-life,” Marinette interrupted. “Unless it's actually serious.”

After looking offended for all of two seconds, Chloé haughtily raised her chin in the air as she proclaimed, “It sort of was with this girl—”

“ _No_.”

It was a week later that Chloé turned up at her apartment again, dressed in tight clothing and make-up that was surely put on with the intention of taking pictures to put online, pressing the bell her signature amount of times so Marinette had no doubt that it was her.

She didn't know whether Chloé's schedule had really cleared up, or if she was making time for her for the short period of time before she really was too busy again. It was summer, after all, and the popularity that Chloé had garnered online for make-up tutorials and videos that showed her trying on different outfits had really worked out well for her after the years.

While Marinette only took commissions to edit dolls—to change their faces, make new clothing for them, and make them unique for each customer—Chloé occasionally took on jobs to do make-up for people between her other responsibilities.

It was strange to think that the mean-looking girl that had been in her classes since she was eleven had turned out so successful. There had been instances where old class-mates had tried to reconnect with her, but Chloé wasn't having any of that.

“And he had the gall to say that I liked _him_ ,” Chloé ranted as they took a table by the window where the sunlight was shining brightly. “There's no fucking way he's okay in the head if he remembers it like that. I kicked his ass to the curb after one gross date when we were twelve.”

Marinette hummed, making the appropriate noises to spur her friend to continue to talk.

“And it wasn't as though he was even cute, you know?” Chloé gestured with her hands as she continued to talk, almost knocking over the small vase of flowers on the table. “I just wanted to piss my father off, that was all. And now the asshole's liking my pictures and trying to hook up with me. As if.”

The input she could give was, “I don't even remember him.”

“I'm not surprised,” Chloé replied with a roll of her eyes. “He hasn't exactly bloomed since then. Still as gross as before he had muscles.”

“So, you looked at his profile enough to see that he has muscles—”

Chloé snorted. “I had to figure out who he was something, right? It was the stupid pout in his pictures that really gave him away. It was like I was having a traumatic flashback.”

She snickered. “You really do sound traumatised.”

“You would be, too, if you saw his lips.”

Being with Chloé made it easy to forget the bad things in her life; to forget the tap that constantly leaked in her kitchen, the panic attack she'd had the previous night, and the brief feeling of guilt that she'd felt when Adrien had hastily retreated into his apartment when she'd walked out of her front door.

She was still telling herself that she didn't do anything wrong.

He'd just come on too strong, that was all. She was sure that if he'd done the same to anyone else, they would've reacted the same way—it wasn't as though he'd been flirting with her at all, but that would've only made it worse, if he had been.

She almost burnt her tongue in her haste to take a sip from her drink.

The rest of the afternoon was supposed to be easy; to go shopping with Chloé, take public transport back to her apartment, and rest for the remainder of the day—

But that wasn't what happened.

Instead, the door to the kitchen opened, and one of the employees wandered out, a bag strap over their shoulder, clearly showing that they were on their way out, but all she could focus on was the face of someone who'd been avidly avoiding her for the past few weeks per her own request.

It wasn't just her that noticed that he was there. She must've been staring, as Chloé twisted around in her seat, visibly perking up and standing up quickly as she crossed the room to approach him.

And rather than any kind of confrontation—something that Marinette had come to expect with her—she instead threw her arms around Adrien's shoulder, the two of them laughing as they pulled each other into a tight hug.

It made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

She—Chloé always took her side, even when she knew that she was in the wrong. Sure, Chloé sometimes tried to talk her out of it, but she always supported her throughout the years.

So to see the two of them together, the hug lasting a little too long before they were apart once more, avidly talking to each other, felt like the breath had left her lungs.

She really didn't want to be there.

But she wasn't just going to abandon her friend, and Chloé quickly remembered her in a matter of moments. Chloé turned to face her, gesturing towards their table while still talking to Adrien, and Marinette was able to see Adrien's happy expression shatter in a matter of moments.

She felt nauseated.

And from the way Chloé's gaze darted between them—from Adrien's grimace and the way he was touching the nape of his neck, and how Marinette was wide-eyed with her hands on her chair, underneath her thighs to stop her from fiddling with anything—it didn't take her very long to piece the information together.

Chloé wasn't dumb, though. She didn't approach the table any further with Adrien, continuing their conversation from across the bakery, and it was a few minutes later that Chloé wandered over alone while Adrien went out from the front door, not looking towards their table as he left.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

Chloé primly sat herself down. “That's your neighbour Adrien, isn't it?”

There wasn't any easing into it. “Yes.”

“Right,” she said, nodding her head, as though it all made sense to her at that very moment. “I really can imagine him doing everything that you said, so I definitely believe you now.”

Marinette let out a weak laugh. “So, you didn't before?”

“I did.” Chloé huffed. “But even more now, yes? I've known that idiot since I was a kid—he definitely would've pestered you to try and be your friend.”

The revelation that the person closest to her, someone that had listened to her even when she called her in the middle of the night when she was panicking, had been friends with someone that had annoyed her persistently was a shocking one. Marinette really didn't know how to feel about that, not when she'd had to talk Chloé out of approaching him in the beginning.

Then, the next words out of Chloé's lips left her even more confused. “I'm not going to apologise for him.”

“You're... not?” she questioned, furrowing her brow. “Why not?”

Chloé looked affronted. “Because you deserve more than my half-assed apology. But you definitely can't stop me from talking to him now.”

She couldn't help but say, “But you didn't even know it was him.”

“We're not exactly close any more,” Chloé said, waving a hand dismissively at the statement. “But now that he's close to you? All the more reason for me to pay him a visit.”

It did made her chest feel a little warm from how much her friend cared for her, but she did try to talk her out of it. “Chloé—”

“ _No_.”

-x-

There really was no stopping Chloé when she put her mind to something.

While Marinette constantly tried to think out anything before she did it—whether it was striking up the courage to talk to a stranger, or calling up a company to address an issue she had with one of her purchases—Chloé had always been the time that didn't think things through properly. And because of how abrasive she tended to come across, Marinette was often the one that she came to to lament how the encounter had turned negative quickly.

So, when Chloé came knocking at her door almost two weeks later, she didn't rush herself any more than usual to answer it. Marinette padded across the room with her slippers on, rubbing at her bleary eyes as she undid the chain and locks, greeting her friend with a sleepy smile.

She definitely hadn't expected to see Chloé half-covered in a batter of some sort.

Chloé barely said a word as she barged in, storming through her apartment to go into the bedroom.

And rather than follow her, Marinette let her be, slowly walking to the kitchen and turning on the kettle to make the two of them hot drinks. After a little while had passed without Chloé coming back out, Marinette decided to make herself breakfast, too.

Chloé appeared almost half an hour later with wet hair, clothes that were a little too small, and a terribly unhappy expression.

“Bad day?” she questioned.

Taking the other free mug, one that was probably cold at that point, Chloé muttered underneath her breath, “Understatement.”

“You don't normally come here without giving me a bit of warning,” she pointed out, taking a sip from her own drink. It was definitely cold. “What happened?”

Chloé breathed out loudly. “It's really not worth it trying to be nice.”

It was a vague response, one that she barely ever heard, but Chloé did like to be a tad too dramatic just for the amusement for it. There were times where she blew a situation way out of proportion when she was telling her side of the story, and it took Marinette a while to get the actual retelling out of her.

But rather than call her out on that, Marinette pointed out, “That's not something you say often.”

“Yeah, well.” Chloé sniffed. “It's not like I'm nice often.”

“I think you're pretty nice.”

When Chloé smiled, it didn't reach her eyes. “And that's why I keep you around.”

“To boost your ego?” she questioned with a small laugh. “I'm not surprised, honestly. You do like to be praised.”

“Way to make me sound modest, Marinette.”

She snorted. “That word has never been associated with you before.”

“I'm _offended_.” But she really didn't sound it. “I went to see Adrien before coming round here.”

As much as she didn't want that answer to really be it, it did explain why she'd come over in the first place. Marinette decided to gesture down below to table, to where the trousers Chloé had borrowed weren't quite covering her ankles. “And the batter all over you?”

Chloé's expression twisted. “Idiot dropped the mixing bowl.”

She'd made it into the apartment, then. Marinette couldn't quite imagine anyone answering the door with a mixing bowl in their hands, but then again, she didn't know Adrien very well. The walls were thin enough that she could barely hear him, thankfully, and since he'd reconnected with Chloé in the bakery, she hadn't seen him.

“Are you sure it wasn't your fault?” she had to ask.

Chloé had to gall to jut out her lower lip. “I resent that.”

It was all the confirmation she needed. And as much as she didn't want to, Marinette stared down into her mug as she questioned, “Why did you go over?”

“A few reasons,” Chloé responded vaguely. “They're not really important.”

She pursed her lips.

“Okay, a little important,” Chloé explained, the sound of her shuffling in her seat very audible. “I got his number again and confirmed that he really wasn't trying to woo you awkwardly, so that's good.”

Marinette almost choked. “Pardon?”

“I had to make sure he wasn't just being a creep, okay,” Chloé stated, waving a hand towards her. “You're like—I don't know, what I guess a little sister is, I suppose? I've known him since I was, like, five. I can't have him looking at you like that.”

Her chest felt a little warm from her words. There was anything a worry that her friends really didn't think much of her, but Chloé's actions were so-very-different from their awkward interactions from when they were younger. Other than her own parents, she trusted Chloé more than anyone else, and within the past few years as they'd grown up and moved out by themselves, making time to see each other, Chloé's actions really proved that she cared for her.

And for her to be so awkwardly open about it was wonderful to hear, too.

“You really don't have to defend my honour, or whatever,” Marinette replied, reaching up and running her hand through her hair. “I really appreciate what you've done for me, but I—I don't want you to hate him because I've had a few bad interactions with him.”

Chloé crossed her arms. “And that's why you're avoiding saying his name?”

“I'm really not,” she defended. “I just—he was your friend, right?”

“Was, is,” Chloé said, waving a hand dismissively. “Kind of. Who knows? It's not like I've even seen him for years. I mean, yeah, I was happy to see him again, but as soon as I realised he was the dick messing with you? It just shows people... I don't know, can change when they grow up?”

There was no reason for her to point out how much Chloé had changed; it had been gradual, sure, but their friendship never would've happened back when Chloé used to laugh at her whenever she tripped over in the classroom. But she still couldn't help but feel responsible—she knew that Chloé didn't have too many people that she considered friends, and for Chloé to realise it was someone that she actually knew that had caused Marinette to have panics attacks?

Marinette couldn't help but feel guilty about that.

“It's okay,” she insisted. “He hasn't bothered me for a while, okay? There's no reason to go over there and ruin his baking.”

Chloé sniffed. “I don't think he'll be inviting me back over anyway.”

Her smile was half-hearted. “Did you really offend him that much?”

“Well, it wouldn't be the first time,” Chloé replied, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Besides, I do have a wonderful plan—if he ever bothers you again, that is.”

She let out a laugh. “Okay, what is it, then?”

“Calling his parents.” Chloé's grin was wide, clearly smug. “Our fathers were like _this_ ,” she paused for a moment, holding up her hand and twisting two fingers together. “And he absolutely adores me, which is always a plus.”

And the thought of Chloé really going through with that, as it really was something that she would do, had her shaking from laughter. “You don't need to tattle for me.”

“We'll see about that.”

The rest of the visit lightened up further when they changed the topic. Chloé told her about her plans—the sponsored photoshoots that she was set to do, along with a collaboration that clearly showed how excited she was for it—and Marinette's own grin reached her eyes when Chloé asked her about the commissions that she was currently working on.

As much as Chloé had offered to promote her, she liked what she had going on.

It was a hobby she'd worked on since she was younger, when she'd wanted to transfer her awkward sewing skills into making actual fashion, and she'd started to make a small living online by making small clothing for a popular set of dolls online. The prices she'd set up online hadn't been much, but she'd been at it for years, steadily creating a social media account that showed her progress along the years, along with a site that customers could look at to see her estimated prices.

And when she'd dropped out of university, it was a job that she'd already had lined up for her, thankfully.

She was really thankful that it had worked out.

Chloé knew that she'd originally wanted to create clothes that were actually human-sized, but when Marinette had stated that it was too much of a hassle, she tried a different approach.

“You should sell this shit for dogs,” was the proposal she always brought up.

And, as always, Marinette rolled her eyes. “I do more than make clothes.”

“Yeah, but you can't exactly take an ugly dog and repaint its face to look pretty.”

She took in a sharp breath. “No dogs are ugly!”

“Some absolutely are.” Chloé scoffed. “Don't lie to yourself.”

“How dare you—”

Chloé just raised her eyebrows. “I dare. What are you going to do about it?”

“...Not make dog clothes?” she responded.

That earned her some laughter.

-x-

Life went back to normal.

Well, as normal as it could be with her. Marinette still chose to be a recluse, not going out to meet other friends, not unless Chloé came over to drag her out. As much as she liked them, she much preferred to stay home or go over to where they lived, rather than the other adventurous things that they wanted.

It was common knowledge that she mostly saw that at birthday parties and other celebrations.

“You'd rather _not_ go on holiday with us?”

It was a question that had been asked throughout the years multiple times, but she'd never taken them up on it—she'd much rather visit her parents than travel just for the intention of being inebriated and partying. That had never really been her scene, something she'd avoided in her short-lived university life, and she very much doubted that she'd ever enjoy it.

So, when her friends really did go on their vacation, she checked on their social media accounts to see the pictures that they'd uploaded. It did look nice, she could agree with that, but she doubted that she would've been comfortable enough with them.

Marinette had definitely never called any of them when she was feeling sad.

It had been four months since Adrien had moved in beside her.

He hadn't tried to approach her again, not even after Chloé had spoken to him. She saw a few glimpses of them when she walked out of her apartment, and even once more at the bakery that she'd visited before.

Any lingering guilt she'd felt about being rude to him had disappeared. Adrien had just turned into another one of her neighbours that she barely spoke to, something that she'd gotten used to.

It was her that broke their avoidance of each other.

Marinette was startled awake one morning by a scream.

She scrambled out of bed, panicked, reaching for her phone for a light when she realised that only darkness was coming through her curtains. It was before dawn, earlier than she'd been up for months, but that didn't really matter as she turned the lights on throughout her apartment as she went.

It wasn't normal to be woken up by a scream.

The number to call for the police was typed into her phone, only a button away as she stumbled outside into the hallway. The lights from the street barely reached where she was, and it was easy to see which apartment had a light on due to the little windows beside the front doors.

Adrien's was on.

With her phone clutched tightly in her hand, she reached up and knocked on his door a bit too hard, worried that something was wrong.

The worries that she had greatly diminished when he answered in what seemed to be no time at all. He opened the door with no hesitation, the light from his apartment flooding out, and she was able to see that nothing seemed wrong with him from a quick glance.

There was no mistaking the curiosity that was present on his expression. “Marinette?”

“I—” Marinette cut herself off, very aware that she'd wandered outside without any shoes on, and that she'd left her front door open. “I heard a scream?”

It definitely came out sounding like a question.

“Fuck,” was Adrien's first response, shuffling on the spot, looking embarrassed as he reached up to run a hand through his hair. “I'm so sorry about that. I... I stubbed my toe.”

But the walls weren't _thin_. She was absolutely sure that Adrien didn't hear when she made pained noises from stubbing her toe, and no matter how painful it could've been, the sound she'd heard had been terribly loud.

Then, her eyes darted down to where he was clutching onto his side with his free hand.

“And here,” he added on, catching onto where her attention was. “I'm really clumsy.”

It sounded like a weak excuse.

It wasn't dawn, and while Marinette had been startled awake with her heart pounding from worry, even though he was someone that she didn't have any positive feelings for, Adrien was standing there perfectly awake, explaining it all away as though she was the strange one for trying to see what was wrong.

The grip on her phone loosened, almost dropping the device to the floor. “Oh.”

“Thanks for coming to check it out,” Adrien said, clearing his throat. “I... I think that was really nice of you.”

The best way to describe what she was feeling was confusion.

“I promise to be quiet so you can go back to sleep,” he announced. “Sorry for bothering you.”

There wasn't much she could say after that. Marinette nodded dumbly, taking a step to the side, only just raising her hand to wave good-bye to him, too stumped for actual words.

It was absolutely baffling.

Although she went back to sleep, it was still bothering her when she woke up. Marinette knew that he worked at the bakery she'd gone to with Chloé, but she didn't know which days, or even times, so she waited until the evening to venture outside again to knock on his door once she saw that the lights were on.

She was dressed that time, hadn't left her door open, and wasn't ready to call for the police in a moment's notice.

Still, she felt a bit nervous about approaching him at all. Adrien had wanted to awkwardly be her friend, Chloé had confirmed that much, and Marinette had turned that down easily. Surely, he didn't have any positive feelings left for her, but he hadn't seemed displeased to talk to her that morning—but it had been early, even though he'd looked wide awake from the pain.

It was for selfish reasons that she was knocking at all.

And as before, Adrien answered quickly. He opened the door wide without any problems, surprise becoming clear on his face when he realised who was at his door, and he curiously questioned, “Marinette?”

“Hi,” she started, voice cracking to show how she felt. “Is this a bad time?”

“It's not?” he replied, tilting his had as he looked at her. “Can I help you?”

She shifted on the spot. “I... I just came to ask about this morning.”

“This morning?” he asked, brows becoming furrowed as he offered her a small smile, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

It had been over twelve hours ago, but she very much doubted that he'd forgotten it. It sounded a bit stuck up, she supposed, but it had been the first time they'd actually interacted in months.

She clarified, “The scream.”

“Oh,” he said, shoulders relaxing, “that.”

And the way he said that was as if it could've been anything else.

“I don't...” Marinette trailed off, making a frustrated noise as they tried to word it correctly. “I don't normally hear you—not for the small things—but it was loud enough to wake me up.”

“Sorry about that,” Adrien stated, grimacing as a hand went to touch his side again. “It turned out that I bruised my ribs.”

It felt a little intrusive to point out that he wasn't holding that area. He could've hurt himself lower, too, and it wasn't her place to try and correct him.

Marinette settled with asking quietly, “How?”

“I fell.” He shrugged. “I didn't think I was loud enough to wake you up.”

She squinted. “But I came over here this morning?”

“Yeah, but you looked pretty awake,” he pointed out, smile appearing to be sheepish. “I guess I thought you might've woken up early like me. I feel even worse about it now.”

There wasn't any reason for her to stick around any longer. She'd gotten the answer that she'd wanted, curiosity quenched, but rather than walk away, she asked, “Are you sure you're okay?”

Adrien met her gaze for a moment, staring at her with an undecipherable expression, before his eyes flickered away as he replied with a small smile, “I'm fine.”

It was then that she realised how awkward she felt.

“Thank you for asking,” Adrien started, taking it as his turn to shift his feet on the spot. “Again, I mean. You must've been really worried to come over here when you—”

The sudden way he cut himself off was questionable.

For her answer, Marinette reiterated, “I don't normally hear you.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “I don't hear you either.”

That's how it should have been, though. If she knew that her neighbours could hear whenever she had a panic attack, or when she sobbed and needed to let out her emotions in a healthy way, she would've absolutely hated trying to look them in the eyes the follow day. The walls were a main selling point of the apartment, along with it being in a not-so-crowded area.

She wetted her lips nervously. “You're fine, so...”

“Oh, yes.” He caught on quickly, seeming to straighten out his body to stand to his full height as he offered her a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Thanks for coming to check whether I was okay, Marinette. I'll try and keep quiet in the future.”

“How about don't hurt yourself?”

“I'm not so sure about that,” he said, an insincere laugh escaping him. “Keeping track of my surroundings is pretty hard, you know?”

A smile tugged on her lips. “Yeah, I can understand that.”

That was all there was to that interaction. Marinette didn't feel too uncomfortable within his presence, not when he'd just been standing there in his entranceway, not actually bothering her, and he'd kindly said good-bye to her when she'd went to return to her apartment.

She still brought it up with Chloé.

Chloé, it had turned out, had actually started to talk to him again, so she'd known about his bruised ribs—and side, as Marinette had predicted—and he'd also broken his little toe, according to her.

“I thought you—” Marinette paused, adjusting her grip on her phone. “I thought you weren't really going to be friends again?”

“What?” Chloé questioned. “Because he ruined my outfit? It's fine, I got over that after buying a new one.”

Of all the things she wanted to say, what came out was, “But you haven't told me about him.”

Chloé was the type of friend that prattled on about her day, telling her everything that she could—even the stuff that Marinette really didn't want to hear. And when they hadn't spoken to each other for a while, Chloé still managed to fit everything into a long rant while Marinette made the appropriate noises to spur her on.

“Because you don't like each other,” Chloé replied. “You don't like him, at least. Adrien's pretty careful not to mention you because, according to him, I get all protective over you. I think he thinks I'm going to stab him with a fork or something.”

She furrowed her brow. “That doesn't—that doesn't mean you can't talk to me about him.”

“For you to clam up and be all weird? I don't think so, Marinette,” Chloé chided her. “It's cool if you think he needs to be kicked between the legs while I'm his friend. Everyone has different tastes, right? Like you preferring dolls over dogs.”

She laughed. “That's not even the same thing!”

“Yeah, you can't convince me of that at all.”

From that talk onwards, Chloé did actually mention Adrien to her. Chloé told her a few stories of when they were younger and growing up together—before Marinette had known Chloé at all—and although it was a little weird to listen to, Chloé was happy talking about them, and that was all that really mattered.

But hearing about Adrien in such a positive light after she'd left her alone for so long—she'd been the one to approach him about the scream, after all—slowly made her opinion of him increase.

So, when they bumped into each other on the stairs going up to their apartment floor, Marinette paused with her hand on the railing, turning around to see him walking down.

“Adrien,” she called.

He took a step before facing her. “Hello?” Then, visibly surprised that it was her that was addressing him, Adrien cleared his throat. “Hi.”

Their height difference was very pronounced due to the few steps apart on the stairs. She smiled in what she presumed to be a nervous way as they stared at each other at first, neither of them taking the initiative with talking.

He hadn't pestered her in so long, and it was with that thought that she asked, “Are your ribs okay?”

“My... ribs,” Adrien repeated, sounding as confused as he looked. “You're asking me about my ribs.”

“Yes?” The inflection at the end made it come out as a question, not coming across as confident as she would've hoped. “That's not too personal, is it?”

He blinked. “They're a bit personal to me.”

“I should hope so,” she replied, equally as bewildered as him.

A startled laugh left him at that. “I—yeah.” Adrien cleared his throat again, his posture and voice making it obvious how strange he was finding their interaction. “I'm fine? I'm barely noticing them, honestly.”

She nodded. “That's good.”

“Yeah?” It probably wasn't supposed to sound like a question. And after they awkward stared at each other for a moment, waiting to see whether either of them was going to say anything, Adrien had only just turned his body away before he went back to facing her. “Marinette?”

She hadn't even taken a step. “Yes?”

“I'm...” Adrien reached up and ran a hand through his hair, leaving a few strands standing up messily. “I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable—before, I mean, but if you're uncomfortable now, I'll also apologise for that.”

It could've been the softness of his voice, how it was barely audible from how quiet it had been, or the way he was meeting her gaze and not looking away despite how awkward his body language was, but she did think he was sincere. It wasn't like the smiles that didn't quite reach his eyes in the past, or the laughter that hadn't made her feel happy to hear, and she found herself letting out a breath at his words.

“Thank you,” Marinette replied, voice equally as quiet. “I-I really appreciate.”

“I'll just—I'll get out of your way now,” he stated. “Thank you for hearing me out, Marinette.”

Although she didn't say anything to that, she did look at him as he walked down the rest of the stairs before disappearing, wondering how they'd gotten off on such a wrong foot in the beginning.

-x-

For Marinette's twenty-fifth birthday, she had three friends over at her apartment. She'd met up with her parents the previous night to have dinner, meaning there would be less people to fit into her one bedroom apartment, and had gotten everything out of the way so she could nurse a hangover the following day without having to worry about responsibilities.

It was partway through the night when Chloé stood up and said that she'd be right back.

As they'd only just started to drink, none of them protested. Chloé was known for being impulsive and doing whatever she wanted, so when she returned after what seemed close to ten minutes, Marinette was the one to stand up and answer the door.

There was Chloé with a large cake on some sort of platter in her hands.

“...Where did you get that?” she questioned, stepping out of the way to let her friend through.

Chloé just laughed. “It's always good to have connections, you know.”

It took two more drinks for Chloé to admit that she'd paid Adrien to bake it, and had gone over to his to pick it up. And from the taste of it, it was definitely one of the ones she liked from the bakery.

Since Chloé had become friends with Adrien again, she hadn't mentioned going over to see him, but Marinette could imagine that it had been a bit inconvenient; the part of not mentioning it, for some reason. If Chloé had wanted to spend a few hours with him before returning back to her—or not even at all—she could've been more welcoming.

She didn't exactly dislike him any more. Chloé had started talking about him some more, per her request, and she wasn't rolling her eyes or tuning her out when he became the subject of their conversation. Sure, it had just been Chloé saying about her day, so it was only a few comments that Adrien had made that had been hilarious or something that Chloé just really wanted to talk about, so she didn't feel any resentment from him being mentioned.

But Marinette couldn't help but feel like, maybe, her previous interactions had been considered a bit of a nuisance.

So, the next time that she saw Adrien outside of their apartments, she raised her hand and called out his name.

As with the last time, he looked surprised as he turned to face her. “Marinette?”

“Yes.” She felt her face growing a bit warm, though it wasn't because of the summer weather. “I just—I wanted to say thank you for the cake.”

He made a noise of recognition. “Are you thanking me for not writing that awful message or—”

“Message?” she questioned, coming to stand beside him, her keys curled in her hand.

With a laugh, he admitted, “Chloé pestered me to write something other than what you actually got for the cake. She actually hit me because it didn't have it when she picked it up.”

“I'm sorry you had to suffer because of me,” she said, lips curling into a smile as she could absolutely see her friend doing that. “What did she want?”

He beamed. “I really don't think you want to know.”

“I'm asking!”

But rather than telling her, Adrien reached up and tapped his nose. “You'll have to ask her.”

“There's no way she'll actually tell me.” She sniffed. “Well, not unless I open the gates for her to talk shit about you a while.”

And to her surprise, Adrien's smile grew insincere as he stated, “I don't really see why you'd have a problem with that.”

With that reminder of the past, Marinette awkwardly fiddled with the bottom of her shorts, adjusting them. “I—even if I didn't like you, it wouldn't be very nice to do that.”

“Even if?” He raised his eyebrows. “Isn't it pretty clear that you don't?”

She pursed her lips.

“Sorry,” Adrien hastily said, one hand going to the nape of his neck. “I'm not... I wasn't trying to argue with you or anything, I swear. Ignore me.”

There was every reason for either of them to just walk away; there was no obligation for them to even talk to each other in the first place, not since Adrien had given up calling out to get her attention—it was her doing the opposite since.

“I don't—I don't dislike you,” Marinette stated, voice quivering a bit at the beginning. “I mean, you made me uncomfortable before, but you haven't... I don't feel that way any more.”

Adrien simply looked at her, meeting her gaze, surely trying to see whether she'd burst out laughing or say that she was joking—but she wasn't the type to do that. She felt sincere in what she'd said despite his obvious dubiousness.

His voice was soft as he asked, “You don't?”

“It's not like we've really interacted lately?” Marinette tried to point out, but it came out sounding like a question at the end. Adjusting her grip on her keys, swapping them to her other hand that didn't have a clammy palm, she quietly added on, “I don't dislike you for before.”

All that did was cause him to furrow his brow. “You don't?”

She swallowed. “I think it was a misunderstanding?”

“I'm not really sure where you're getting that from,” Adrien muttered, the hand on his neck trailing through his hair, making the strands messy before it fell down to his side. “I was—I wanted to be your friend, but you clearly didn't want to. It's fine, Marinette.”

The smile really didn't reach his eyes.

She was sure that her nervous one didn't either. “It wasn't that.”

He raised his eyebrows. “No?”

“I…” Shifting her feet, Marinette reached up to fiddle with an earring. “It was a combination of things, you know? I felt like I was in a horror film because of how often you kept popping up—I'm not good with things like that.”

There was a grimace on his face. “That wasn't—”

“It's me, not you,” she joked. “It was kind of you, but you get what I mean.”

The laugh that escaped him was only half-hearted. “Yeah, I think I do.”

He wasn't as intimidating as he was in the past; they were standing on the same level, not steps apart and causing her to almost be at the same height as him, but her heart wasn't beating from being terribly nervous. The only reason for the clammy hands was due to the warm temperature, not his attempts at talking to her any more.

And that was why she stuck her hand out to him. “No hard feelings?”

Adrien stared at her hand for a moment—making her wonder whether he wasn't going to accept it—before a small smile curled on his lips and he reached out to shake her hand. His grip was gentle, clearly trying not to be too aggressive, but she appreciated the gesture.

“I've heard a lot of things about you from Chloé,” she added on, her own smile growing. “And I really think we got off on the wrong foot. I don't really know my other neighbour, but I think befriending at least one seems to be a good idea.”

“I doubt you've actually heard anything good,” he mused, hand falling down to his side, almost being put in his pocket before he changed his mind about that. “And since no one else came to see what was up when I screamed that one time, it's probably in my best interests to repay you for that somehow.”

She grinned. “No one questioned you?”

With a shake of his head, Adrien said, “I'm still surprised that you came.”

But if the situation had been reversed, and it had been her screaming, she would've liked someone to come to enquire whether she was okay. “If I was thinking properly, I would've brought a weapon with me, rather than just my phone.”

He laughed at that. “I'll bring a weapon along if I ever hear anything suspicious from your side.”

“Promise?” she questioned.

Adrien smiled, raising his hand and sticking out his little finger. “Absolutely.”

It didn't start off an immediate friendship between the two of them.

Marinette called out a greeting if they passed each other outside, waved and did the appropriate things for someone that she didn't dislike, and when Chloé came over to hers for a while, she offered for her to friend to come back over to hers after visiting Adrien, if she wanted.

Chloé took her up on that offer almost instantly.

It took close to two weeks for Adrien to start calling out her name again to get her attention when they saw each other, but she didn't feel uncomfortable with him walking closer. Adrien seemed to be wary of how close he actually got to her, making sure to give her space, and she had to wonder whether he'd spoken to Chloé about anything regarding her.

She couldn't resist bringing it up.

“Have you spoken to Adrien about me?”

Chloé's laughter came through the phone. “What?”

“I mean—we're not absolute enemies, like you seem to want us to be, but whenever we talk for a few minutes outside, I can't help but think he's treating me like a wounded animal or something,” Marinette babbled, running a hand through her hair, messily yanking it out of the style that it had been in. “Or maybe even a kid? I'm twenty-five, Chloé, I don't need someone thinking I'm some lost teenager again—”

Her friend bluntly replied, “Of course I've been talking about you. Why wouldn't I?”

“...Pardon?”

“You're kind of a loser, but you're my best friend? Unfortunately, whenever I'm asked about the good things from my week, your name tends to pop up,” Chloé prattled on, sounding nonchalant. “Plus, he mentions whenever you say anything to him now. I think he's waiting for you to scream bloody murder whenever he looks at you.”

As nice as it was to hear Chloé compliment her in her own way, Marinette latched onto the last thing she'd said. “Adrien talks about me?”

“Yes, child.” Chloé sounded almost bored. “That's what I just said, isn't it?”

“That's... strange,” she replied slowly, furrowing her brow.

Chloé snorted. “Don't worry, he still doesn't want to fuck you.”

“ _Chloé—_ ”

But that exclamation was swiftly interrupt with, “I had to check!”

“You did _not_ ,” Marinette insisted, feeling her face grow warm. “You can't just ask people that, it's—it's really weird, even for you.”

There was barely anything that she could say that would offend her, though. “He didn't drop a mixing bowl that time, so it's fine. Besides, I'm sure he still remembers how I am.”

“Yeah, you're pretty unforgettable,” she muttered.

“I fucking hope that's a compliment.”

It was.

The next time Chloé came over to her apartment for a few hours before going over to Adrien's, Marinette had busied herself with working on a commission, carefully repainting the doll's face to be similar to one of her old works. With music playing through her headphones, her phone had been left in a visible place on the desk for Chloé to call when she wanted to be let back in, rather than Marinette not hearing the knocks on her door.

It was some hours later that Chloé returned.

The two of them ordered dinner, settling down on her sofa to watch something. Chloé liked to make remarks about anything they watched; smart comments, dumb jokes, or just generally talking badly about the character and their dumb decisions. Marinette chimed in most of the time, pointing out the things she didn't like either, and it was one of the reasons they always chose to watch the worst kind of things.

The knock at the door wasn't their delivery.

Instead, it was Adrien standing there, a familiar bag in his hands.

“Oh, there it is,” Chloé said, getting up and approaching the two of them to pluck her bag out of his hands. “Thanks for being my loyal servant, as always.”

He rolled his eyes. “I did text you.”

“I'm a bit busy,” Chloé replied, gesturing towards where Marinette was standing beside her. “But look at you, working up the courage to come a-knocking. I'm so proud.”

Marinette's gaze was darting between the two of them, lips parting for a moment before she closed them, not quite sure where to interject herself into the conversation.

“I'll just go, then,” he said, taking a step back. “Enjoy your night, you two.”

“Hang on.” Chloé reached out and grasped onto the short sleeve of his t-shirt, holding him in place. “Have you had dinner yet?”

He looked at her strangely. “No?”

“Great, come join us,” Chloé demanded, no question at all in her voice. Then, she tugged him towards them, but not with enough strength to make him stumble. “Marinette won't mind.”

Bewildered at the sudden development, Marinette's voice cracked as she said, “No?”

“Right?” Chloé turned towards her, giving her a pointed look. “He can come in, yes? I'll pay for dinner.”

She spluttered, “You were paying anyway!”

“Great.” Chloé beamed, taking a step back to make room for Adrien to enter her apartment. “All the more reason for him to join us, then.”

And as Adrien took a step inside, his gaze flickered between the two of them as he eloquently asked, “I—what?”

It was a lost cause, though. Chloé almost always got what she wanted, and Marinette didn't really have a good reason to turn him down, not when they'd started to get along during their brief encounters.

So, it was with a smile that she said, “Just take off your shoes and it's fine.”

Adrien looked terribly out of place in her apartment. He was sat stiffly on her sofa, lack of socks making him appear self-conscious as he kept his feet still, but it was Chloé that lessened the awkwardness between them.

It took half an hour for all of them to relax. The food had arrived, being divided equally between their plates, and Chloé's constant commentary on the film that they changed to when Adrien had arrived opened up a lot more conversation than she thought it would. It turned out it was a remake of one of Adrien's favourites, but it was awful compared to the first one.

He was very vocal about that after a while.

Marinette chimed in when she wanted to, not feeling particularly pressured to comment on everything. When it was just Chloé and Adrien talking—either arguing about one of their points or just bickering in general—she laughed along with them, finding it amusing.

It was a fun evening, surprisingly.

Chloé's smugness when she glanced between them couldn't exactly be missed, and when Adrien looked at her, he gestured towards Chloé and rolled his eyes, having clearly noticed the same things as she did.

The night was only over because Chloé kicked Adrien out, saying that he needed to be up the following day as it was, and that she wanted to go to bed.

It couldn't even be said that Chloé wasn't honest.

As Adrien was slipping his shoes back on, Marinette approached him and said, “Thanks for staying.”

“It was fun,” he replied, smile reaching his eyes. “I apologise if I was intruding at all. It wasn't really clear whether you wanted me here or not.”

“I didn't mind it,” she admitted. “Besides, Chloé would've just dragged you in.”

His laughter was quiet. “Very true.”

After she'd relaxed, there hadn't been anything wrong with Adrien's presence; if anything, his commentary had been hilarious to her, and she had to qualms about being sat with him, not when Chloé was there, too. So, it was because of that that she asked, “Would you—do you want to come next time?”

His smile grew wider. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Marinette's own tugged at her lips. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“That sounds really great,” he said, putting a hand into the pocket of his trousers. “Thanks, Marinette.”

-x-

The first time she spent time with Adrien without Chloé was over a month later.

As she'd offered to him, the next time Chloé came over, Adrien was invited along. Chloé had said that since the two of them had started to get along, it would mean that she could spend more time with both of them, so it ended up with them going over to Adrien's apartment.

He'd been more than happy to invite them inside. The layout was identical to hers, but the lack of decorations in the rooms were very obvious. The only place that he had fully furnished and looking how he wanted—as he awkwardly explained when he noticed that Marinette was staring at his blank walls in the living room—was the kitchen, but that was due to him using it the most.

Chloé was more than happy to demand free food from him, to which Adrien only laughed about before actually doing what she wanted. The baked goods that he'd offered her on their first day meeting weren't a fluke; he liked to experiment a lot, apparently, and the ones that got approved to be sold in the bakery made him feel proud.

And as Chloé took a picture of the food she'd been given along with the hot drink in view, after pushing Marinette to the side so her hand wouldn't be in the shot, Adrien just laughed at her antics.

It wasn't a bad visit.

Marinette felt awkward in a home that wasn't hers, not quite sure what to do and what she was allowed to touch, but Adrien was a good host. He still seemed to keep a comfortable distance from her, but he did ask her questions to keep the conversation going, smile not as fake and insincere as it had been before.

If he'd approached her with the soft personality that he was showing since the two of them making up, she doubted that there would've been any discomfort at all.

He didn't make her feel panicked.

After that first lunch with Chloé in his apartment, when Chloé got a text and sighed dramatically, stating that she had to go, she'd hovered by the door, unsure of whether she should also leave.

“You can stay, if you want,” Adrien offered, collecting the plate and mug that Chloé had used, taking them to the kitchen.

And so, she did.

It turned out that they had similar taste in music and films.

“No, _really_?” she asked, aghast from his choice.

Adrien laughed and held his hands up in a sign of surrender. “It's just really amusing, okay? I'm not going to claim it's changed my life or something.”

She grimaced. “I'm so disappointed.”

When she went back to her apartment later that evening, Chloé sent her a string of emojis in a text message.

She really did laugh at that.

Adrien was the one to seek her out to ask to spend time together—without Chloé.

As always, she undid the chain and locks on her front door, cracking it open to peer outside to see who was there. And when she saw Adrien's smiling face as he greeted her, she genuinely smiled back.

“Hey,” he said, not at all sounding out of place or nervous. A stark change to their recent encounters. “Feel free to say no, but I was wondering whether you wanted to hang out sometime?”

She opened the door further. “Yeah?”

He nodded, putting his hands into his pockets of his jacket. The weather had gotten a bit colder, the summer having died down and faded, but it still wasn't cold enough for winter clothing. “We could hang out at mine, if you want.”

As it hadn't been too awkward before, Marinette replied, “I'd like that.”

“Great.” He beamed. “Would it be too forward to ask for your number?”

That did make her laugh. “Oh, I forgot about that,” she said, patting her pocket before realising that she didn't have it on her. “Do you want to come in while I find my phone? It's probably in my bedroom.”

“I—sure,” Adrien accepted, surprise clear in his voice. Without her prompting him to do so, he took off his shoes at the entrance, remembering how she'd asked him to do that the previous time.

It made her smile.

“I'll be right back.”

The sound of the door closing could be heard as she wandered through her apartment, finding her phone on the desk in her bedroom. With a quick check, she confirmed that she had a few messages from Chloé and other friends that she hadn't even been aware of, despite them being hours old, but it was usually the most reliable way to reach her.

When she told Adrien that after giving him her number, she explained, “I usually have headphones on when I'm working, so I don't hear when someone's at the door.”

He made a noise of acknowledgement. “I promise to text first, then.”

“I wouldn't feel too bad about ignoring you,” she blurted. Then, when she realised what she'd said, Marinette hastily reached up and ran a hand through her hair as she said, “If you knocked on my door, I mean. You only live next door.”

“Only?” Adrien gasped, putting a hand on his chest. “That doesn't mean anything to you?”

She snorted. “If it helps, you're becoming my favourite neighbour.”

“I don't think that's really hard,” he mused, putting his phone away again. “I haven't really seen you talk to anyone else.”

It was just a statement, one that anyone that lived in their building would've said, but she chose to reply, “I do hope you're not stalking me again.”

Adrien let out some kind of a strangled noise as he hastily shook his head. “I— _no_! That was never my intention to begin with, I swear—”

She almost reached out to touch his shoulder, her hand stopping before she actually made contact with him, falling back down to her side. “I was just kidding.”

“Oh.” His eyes were wide as he looked at her. Then, a half-hearted laugh left him, one that sounded mostly forced. “I—I should've known that, yes.”

After two days, he messaged her. Adrien's text had been from before she was awake, so when she'd sleepily checked her phone to turn off the alarm, his message was right there for her to read.

When she replied back, asking when he was free, he suggested the following day when his shift from work wasn't too long. Then, as if to sweeten the deal, he added on that he had leftover desserts that they could split between the two of them.

There really wasn't a reason to reject him.

With a few messages to Chloé—that resulted in a bit of teasing, but Marinette ended up just telling her to fuck off—when Marinette knocked on his door when the sun was beginning to set, she wasn't empty-handed.

“Hi,” she greeted him as the door opened, Adrien's welcoming smile not at all forced. “Since you're offering dessert, I made dinner for us.”

The surprise was clear in his voice. “Really?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, lifting the bowl a bit higher. “If you hate it, you can absolutely blame Chloé.”

With a thoughtful noise, he asked, “Is that why she kept telling me that she hates me today?”

She laughed. “Oh, only today?”

“Okay, fair point,” he replied, stepping aside and gesturing for her to enter.

It wasn't as imposing as the last time that she was there. She still looked around curiously, taking in the differences in their apartment—such as where they put their furniture—and happily let Adrien take the dish out of her hands, giving him the instructions on how to heat it up to eat whenever they wanted to.

It didn't feel forced—not like when she spent time with some friends one-on-one. Marinette wasn't fond of crowds, loud places, and she didn't drink, meaning that she didn't go to the nightclubs and other social hotspots that most of her friends went to. It was one of the reasons she was so thankful that Chloé was fine with doing anything with her, even though it usually resulted in Marinette taking pictures of her at some point or another, but she really didn't mind it.

The lack of going out had caused her not to make that many friends in university.

To her surprise, Adrien didn't know about her job.

“Chloé didn't tell you?” she questioned, raising her eyebrows.

He shrugged. “It's hard to get information out of her sometimes.”

“Yeah, I can understand that,” she agreed with a laugh, recalling all the times Chloé had dodged her questions. “I—it's a bit weird, but I do custom makeovers for dolls? It's not too bad, honestly.”

Adrien looked intrigued. “Makeovers?”

“I paint their faces to be less... I don't know, generic?” She shrugged. “Along with changing their hair and making new outfits. Most of the time, people ask for really specific things.”

He stated, “I don't think I've ever heard someone else say that to me before.”

“It's a bit of a niche job,” Marinette admitted with a laugh.

“How did you get into it?”

“I studied fashion,” she said, adjusting the cushion that she had pressed against her side, trying to get into a more comfortable position on his sofa. “But that, well, it didn't really work out?”

Adrien's surprise was evident in his voice as he enquired, “Fashion?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “I wanted to make my own clothes and all that. I guess I kind of am, but they're just for little dolls.”

He was looking at her with an unknown expression as he stated, “My father's a designer.”

“Oh, is he?” she queried, curious. “Is he any good?”

“His designs are considered timeless by some,” Adrien quietly replied, not quite meeting her gaze as he said that. Then, abruptly before she could reply, he hopped up onto his feet and asked, “Do you want anything to drink?”

It was clear that he wanted to change the subject.

They weren't quite close enough to talk about those sorts of things, and she understood that. When Adrien had spoken about himself, it had been about his hobbies or things that he liked, stuff they had in common, or his work, that he genuinely seemed to enjoy.

When he returned with a hot drink for her, Marinette asked, “How did you get into baking?”

His smile wasn't half-hearted. “It was something my mother loved to do, and I wanted to... I guess I wanted to honour her memory in a way?”

There was no mistaking his words. Instead of focusing on the implications, she softly answered, “I think anyone would be pleased with your baking.”

“I don't know about that,” he said with a small laugh, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “I'm still—I get really shocked whenever anyone compliments me about it. It's strange.”

“You're good,” she insisted. “I really regret not accepting your peace offering the first time.”

The smile didn't fade as he turned to face her. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, a smile of her own curling on her lips, surely reaching her eyes. “A big mistake on my part to reject you, clearly. I could've been tasting all this regularly.”

With a dramatic noise, he asked, “You'd use me for my goods?”

She shook with laughter. “Only your sweet ones.”

“Some people saying I am sweet.” Adrien sniffed. “Or are you going to tell me otherwise?”

“You're a little sweet right now,” Marinette said, holding up her hand and showing the small space between her index finger and thumb, clearly trying to indicate that tiny amount was him. “You're working your way up, though.”

He laughed. “That's good to hear.”

It became sort of a routine. When Marinette mentioned that she was looking forward to an upcoming television that was airing the following week, Adrien suggested that they could watch it together.

He was kind enough to offer his apartment for it, and when she said that she could cook for him, Adrien had finally agreed when they agreed to take it in turns.

Although they extended the invitation to Chloé, she was too busy to visit every week.

It was fine without her. Marinette gradually grew more comfortable at Adrien's place, having finally picked a spot to sit regularly that she preferred over all of the others, and she slowly started to learn where he kept everything.

And along with them spending an evening each week together, they started to text more, too. As with his first message to her, he tended to wish her a good morning before she even woke up, though that had more to do with his job than anything else. On the one day where he didn't have to get up early, his message was a lot later than the others days.

She learned a lot about him.

Adrien was responsible, apparently, as he wasn't fond of going out with his friends in the evenings, not when he had to get up the next time. While Chloé had given up asking her a long time ago—unlike some of their other friends—she'd started to pester him, becoming frustrated with his rejections.

But he was more than happy to send her pictures of his day; from animals he passed on the street, the cake he'd just finished decorating, or when he'd accidentally spilled something all over him, showing his ruined outfit.

He was a bit dramatic.

As he'd shown interest in it, she shared her website with him so he could see the dolls that she'd made, and the compliments that she'd gotten from him and made her chest feel warm.

It was always nice when someone was genuinely interested in what she did.

They were the same age, surprisingly, and his twenty-sixth birthday was the following week. Chloé had taken it upon herself to rent out a room in her father's business for there to be a party held, something that she was always more than always willingly to do, and it was because of that that Marinette found herself making sure that she'd taken her medicine before she went out.

Chloé couldn't keep a secret to save her life, not when she gloated about everything, so Marinette's form of transport for that evening was Adrien.

Smoothing out her dress, she knocked on his door, having to only wait a little while for him to open it.

Adrien's smile was bright as he greeted her with, “Hey, Marinette. Come in, I'm almost done.”

She hovered by the doorway after stepping inside, holding his present in her hands, unsure on whether to sit down or not. Chloé had given them a specific time to arrive, but she doubted that they'd make it in time at all—

“Sorry, sorry,” he said as he stumbled back out of his bedroom, looping the belt around his jeans and trying to make him look more presentable. His outfit was tighter than the usual loose clothing that he wore around his home, and not the uniform that was required for his work. “I'm probably going to make us late.”

She smiled at that. “Maybe a little.”

“What a shame.” He paused, checking his hair in a mirror before turning to face her with a smile. “You look nice, by the way.”

It was just a compliment, but her grin still widened at it. “You, too.”

As he slipped his shoes on, he asked, “Is that a present I see?”

“Perhaps,” Marinette replied, shifting her hold on it. “If you're good.”

He sniffed. “I'm always good.”

“You can open it later, then,” she said, holding it out to him. “When there's less chance of Chloé skewering us.”

Adrien laughed heartily. “Fine, fine. You ready to go?”

And with an affirmative answer, they went to his car. Adrien put on some quiet music on the drive, but for the most part, it was him mentioning his friends again, trying to describe them so she'd know what to expect. Marinette had heard their names over the weeks, but that didn't mean she knew much about them—but, at least, Chloé would be there to keep her company.

It didn't take them long to reach their destination.

Marinette was fiddling with her earring while he locked the car, the reassuring smile that he sent her wasn't quite easing the nerves.

It should've been obvious that he was picking up on her mood, but it surprised her when Adrien said, “We can stay out here for a bit, if you want.”

She wetted her lips. “No, it's okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she said, exhaling slowly. “Don't you want to see your cake, birthday boy?”

He grinned. “I do, actually.”

There weren't that many people. Chloé's interference meant that it was just a small group in the room—at least six people that she didn't recognise when they walked in, though she was told a few more would be arriving—along with a bartender that was very friendly.

She ordered a non-alcoholic drink.

She kept to herself a little, sipping at her drink and just nodding along with conversations that she was dragged into, and it turned out that Adrien and Chloé had the same idea of asking her opinion of things every few minutes, or simply looking at her and waiting for her input.

It felt like they were babysitting her a tiny bit.

Marinette knew she was unsociable, but she wasn't _that_ bad.

When she'd finished her second drink, she wandered to the bathroom, washing her hands when someone else came into the room.

She didn't think anything of it, really. Why would she?

But when she'd gone to get another drink, sharing a smile with the bartender as they didn't question her non-alcoholic choice, she didn't think twice of the person going into the bathroom.

Adrien came to stand beside her, crossing his arms on the bar and leaning onto it as he turned towards her with a grin. “I wondered where you disappeared to.”

It had hardly been five minutes. “Are you stalking me?”

Rather than jumping to defend himself, as he'd done the previous time, Adrien confidently replied, “Always.”

There wasn't any way to take it than as a joke. “Well, you should stop that,” Marinette replied lamely. “Aren't you supposed to be socialising with your friends?”

“That's what I'm doing now, isn't it?” he pointed out, bumping his shoulder gently against hers before flagging down the bartender to get his own drink.

Chloé had gone all out and said that she'd pay the tab for all three of them, but just not any of Adrien's other friends. She'd been very blunt about that, too, saying it in front of his friends that had already arrived.

The chiming of his cell phone sounded, and when he looked at the screen, his smile grew. “Oh, that's good timing,” he said, replying quickly before pocketing the device, turning around to try and inspect the room. “Nino's here and you'll finally get to meet him.”

All she knew about Nino was that he'd eaten the rejected food from seven months ago.

As it turned out, Nino was as friendly as Adrien. He had dark-coloured curly hair, tanned skin, and a wide smile as he waved and greeted Marinette after Adrien introduced them.

“I've heard a lot about you!”

She grimaced. “I—okay?”

“Oh, don't worry—” Nino was swiftly interrupted by Adrien jabbing him in the ribs, cutting off whatever he'd been about to say. Nino crossed his arms with a huff. “Chill out, dude. I'm not a dick.”

Adrien's expression was very deadpan.

They were definitely friends, that was clear from their interactions. Marinette couldn't quite hide her smile as she took a sip of her drink, just happy to watch the two of them interact, but they kept trying to include her in everything.

Well, Nino did.

“What do you think, Marinette?” he'd asked, dramatically turning to face her, wanting her opinion on just about anything that Adrien expressed an interest in.

It was a little weird.

And when she replied, the confusion was clear in her voice. “I don't know?”

That just made Nino's grin grow wider, Adrien look close to putting his head in his hands with a sigh, and for her gaze to flicker between the two of them, trying to understand what exactly was going on.

Their banter was cut short by the arrival of Nino's girlfriend. He called her name, happily wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close as he exclaimed, “And this is _Marinette_.”

It was the girl from the bathroom, that she could tell from the red hair that no one else in the room had. But Marinette gave her a polite smile, unsure on what exactly to say from the sudden development.

“Hi!” Nino's girlfriend, Alya, said, readily holding out her hand. “I feel like we should've met so much sooner, you know?”

Marinette just looked at her strangely as she shook her hand. “Okay?”

“And that's enough,” Adrien interjected, putting his hand down between them to separate their hands. “You two are being incredibly enthusiastic and it's coming across as creepy.”

It was sweet of him to say that.

“Sorry, dude,” Alya said with a laugh, taking a step back and holding her hands up in a sign of surrender. “I promise it's not on purpose! We've just been looking forward to meeting her, that's all.”

“You were also excited to meet Chloé,” he pointed out. “And we all know how that turned out.”

Even Marinette knew that Chloé wasn't too fond of his friends. She was very particular with the people that she liked, never afraid to be blunt and tell someone that she didn't like their friends.

“Look, I didn't realise it would be _that_ Chloé,” Alya grumbled, hands falling down to her side. “Someone that catty should come with a warning, you know?”

It was quiet, a comment that would've been said between friends, but Marinette was standing right _there_.

A feeling of protectiveness surged through her. “Excuse you?” she said, voice a lot louder than it had been before.

Adrien quickly shook his head. “She didn't mean it—”

“Oh, right.” Alya grimaced. “Sorry, I forgot you're her friend. I wouldn't have said that if I remembered that.”

It was an insincere apology at best.

Marinette's displeasure must've shown on her face because Adrien gently put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Not a great first impression, but I can assure you Chloé's feelings for her are the exact same.”

While Chloé hadn't gone into detail about the reasons that she'd disliked Adrien's friends, she wasn't sure how Chloé had managed to get someone to feel so negatively for her so suddenly.

“We went to school together,” Alya explained, reaching up to push her spectacles further up her nose. “I really didn't mean to offend you, really. It's just some lingering resentment and a terrible filter, I swear.”

That—

Her eyes widened. “W-what?”

“Small world, right?” Alya replied, not quite picking up on the reason for her shock. “I won't talk shit about your friend any more, don't worry.”

Adrien cleared his throat, taking his hand away from Marinette's shoulder. “She's my friend, too, you know.”

“Yeah, but you don't have a backbone,” Nino chimed in. Then, when he saw Adrien's offended look, he laughed and said, “Kidding, kidding.”

But rather than be relieved when they started to change the subject, Marinette's gaze kept flickering back to Alya, trying to figure out whether she was familiar or not. There was a chance that they'd gone to school together, as Alya hadn't specific _which_ school she'd met Chloé in—and why would she? There wasn't any reason to tell anyone her life story.

Her chest felt tight.

No one seemed aware of how she'd quietened down, smiles not at all sincere, and the fast-beating of her heart was more than audible in her own head. Marinette stood there awkwardly beside Adrien as he spoke to his two friends happily, even reaching out to hug each of them and thank them for coming.

She really didn't want to be there any more.

The chance to walk away was taken when Chloé confidently came to stand beside them, her grin sharp as she looked at Adrien's friends. “I did wonder where you wandered off to.”

Marinette's nails curled into her palms as she tried to keep herself calm. It wasn't right to jump to the worst sort of conclusions, or worry about all the things that could go wrong, but she couldn't help but think about them.

Alya snorted. “I'm sure.”

It was clear from Chloé's body language that she wasn't actually angry. She probably just found it fun to irritate someone that she'd never been too fond of, just to see them squirm.

But when Chloé turned to face her, Marinette knew that as easily as she'd read her, Chloé would realise something was up.

Chloé readily ignored the others there, reaching out to touch Marinette's forearm as she asked, “You okay?”

She throat felt tight, but she nodded in reply.

“I can drive you back, if you want,” Chloé said. Then as if realising that she might've had a bit too much to drink to actually do that, she continued on to ask, “Or you can just go back to my place since it's closer?”

As much as she wanted to stay to continue to celebrate Adrien's birthday, she'd already been there for over an hour. Marinette reluctantly said a good-bye to him and choked out some pleasantries to his friends as she made her way past, Chloé's arm looped through her own and dragging her along as they ventured outside.

The cold air felt nice on her cheeks.

The walk to Chloé's home wasn't far from where they'd been, but they stayed quiet for the first bit of it.

With a glance to the side, to see Chloé's frown, Marinette had to ask, “She went to school with us, didn't she?”

Chloé didn't look at her. “...Yes.”

“I don't remember her.”

“She—” Chloé cut herself off with a frustrated noise, scowling as she adjusted how their arms were linked to be more comfortable. “She transferred in when you were absent for a while in our last year.”

She swallowed. “Oh.”

-x-

Adrien had sent her a few messages asking whether she was okay, but she'd assured him that she was fine.

And she was, but only after a while. She'd stayed round Chloé's for the night, the two of them avoiding the subject of Alya any further, and she left in the morning when Chloé stumbled out of the bed with a scowl, choosing to take a bus back to her apartment.

Her texts to Adrien picked up again, and when it came time a few days later for her to wander over to his for their weekly routine—something that neither of them had cancelled thus far—she decided to bring over her purse so they could order food instead.

Adrien was all smiles, but it was clear that they were avoiding the subject.

They managed it until after they'd finished their food. The show had finished, so they'd swapped it to a different channel and weren't really paying much attention to it.

Marinette had her legs tucked up underneath her, their dirty plates and glasses littering the coffee table in front of them.

It was him that cautiously asked, “Is there something on your mind?”

There wasn't a really good way to answer that. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek, not quite meeting his gaze as she wondered about all the things that could've been said when she was gone. It was years ago—so long, enough for her to try and forget that time—but rumours never really died down, did they?

She didn't know Alya.

“Did Alya—” Marinette started before she cut herself off, purposely letting out a breath slowly. “Did she say anything after I left? At your party.”

There wasn't any need to look up to see his confused expression because it was portrayed perfectly in his voice as he said, “No?”

“Nothing?” There was a lump forming in her throat. “At all?”

“No?” Adrien repeated, the lilt still present at the end. “She did feel bad about talking badly of Chloé in front of you, if that's what you're—”

She shook her head. “It's not.”

“What's bothering you?” The question was soft, not forceful or demanding in the slightest. She could feel the weight on the sofa shift as he moved closer, his thigh touching her knees. “I won't be offended if you don't like my friends or something, Marinette. I'm not going to try and force anything.”

It just made her feel worse. It was—it was so dumb for her to expect Alya to have said something after so _long_ , but her lingering resentment for Chloé was still there, prickly and immature.

“Sorry,” Marinette said, barely a croak. “I—it's nothing.”

He made an unimpressed noise. “It's obviously not if you're this worried about it, but all right.”

Adrien was nice. Once they'd gotten over their awful first impressions of each other, she'd come to learn that he was genuinely kind, thoughtful, and someone that she proudly called her friend.

It was because of that that she admitted, “I went to school with her.”

“Alya?” he questioned. “I—okay?”

“I—” With a pause, she adjusted her position to put her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on top, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at him. “I didn't want her to recognise me.”

There was a beat of silence. “I don't think she did.”

“Maybe.” The words sounded loud to her despite the quiet tone, the thumping of her pulse echoing in her head. “But if—if she did, I didn't want to relive that.”

It wasn't that she was looking for pity from him—not from anyone—but if Alya had remembered her, it would've been everything she didn't want. There was a reason that the only person she continued to talk to from her teenage years was Chloé.

“Marinette.” Adrien's voice as soft as she reached out to gently touch her shoulder, to which she was only startled a little, not enough to pull away from him as he rested it on her in a comforting way. “She hasn't anything about that. And even if she _did_ recognise you, she hasn't mentioned it so far. I don't think she really will.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “I just—I don't want that.”

“Then, I won't listen if she ever does bring it up,” he proposed. “How does that sound?”

A weak laugh escaped her. “You don't even know what you're looking out for.”

“I'll just silence her all the time, then,” Adrien said, no longer just touching her shoulder, instead wrapping his arm gently around her, giving her every chance to pull away.

She leaned into it instead. “That's not nice.”

“I had some pretty lame rumours about me, too,” he said, and she realised from their position that he could probably rest his chin on top of her head if he wanted to. “Back in school, I mean. I'm not trying to compare our situations at all, but I—I did mention about my father before, right?”

It took a moment for her to recall the passing comment and say, “The designer.”

“Yeah.” He breathed out audibly, relaxing against her. “I'm not really—I'm not that connected with him any more? He's always tried to keep me out of the spotlight, but it took cutting ties with him to really try and get away.”

She couldn't imagine not being in contact with her parents. “Spotlight?”

“It's annoying,” he muttered. “Sometimes, I still get people trying to get in contact with me, just to ask me about my opinion on his work.”

As it was clear that he wanted nothing to do with that, rather than enquiring about the fashion like she wanted to, she readjusted their position to rest her head against his shoulder as she sympathised and said, “That sucks.”

“Back when I was younger,” he started, voice louder than before. “I had to go to some stuck up private school, and it was public knowledge who my father was, so a lot of people tried to befriend me just because of that.”

She made a noise of disapproval. “Did you—I mean, was this when you were friends with Chloé?”

“No,” he admitted. “We never actually went to school together, but we stopped talking _years_ ago. I think our parents fell out? And we were too young to really try and keep in contact, so it kind of just died out.”

Of all the thing she could've said, Marinette ended up blurting out, “I'm sorry school sucked for you.”

She could feel his body shake from his laughter. “I'm sorry it sucked for you, too.”

“It was the worst,” she agreed, a self-deprecating smile curling on her lips.

“Look on the bright side,” Adrien urged her, his arm slipping from her shoulder to loosely be around her waist. “We're both not planning to go back to school any time soon, right?”

A laugh escaped her at that. “Yeah, I guess.”

“That's great, then!”

And at that moment, all she could think was that it was great being with him.

Another reassurance came a few days later from an unknown number sending her a text. Marinette was dubious at first, thinking it was a wrong number, but Alya supplied her name within a few minutes.

It was just her saying that she wasn't going to bring up anything from school. When Marinette questioned her why she was telling her at all, Alya replied that Chloé had reached out to her and told her not to—which translated to threatening, probably—but it still caused her stomach to churn uncomfortably from the thought.

Alya did continue to try and reach out to her, asking about her day and being genuinely nice, but Marinette's answers were all tentative, not quite sure whether she really wanted to interact with her.

It was only because Alya was Adrien's friend that she continued to respond.

She wasn't quite sure when it happened, but she became aware of the warm feeling in her chest whenever she spent time with Adrien. Whether it was when his smile was directed at her, or just hearing the sound of his laughter, be it breathy or boisterous, her smile always grew when she was around him.

But rather than shying away from the crush, she continued on as they were; sharing dinners once a week, texting often, and him keeping the earned spot of her top recent contact the past weeks.

And when she compared her time spent with him to how she'd felt before, miserable in her bedroom as she painted dolls with no idea what she wanted to do with her free time, there was a stark difference.

She really regretted not befriending him sooner.

It was normal for them to hug since his birthday. Marinette was becoming accustomed to being close to him, the two of them usually inching closer whenever they watched something, their thighs either touching or her turning to rest her head on his shoulder, just to be comfortable. And whenever Adrien wrapped an arm around her, he seemed hesitant, as if he was expecting her to pull away.

It made her smile.

Since her relationship with Chloé was so open and comfortable, the next time her friend came over to visit her, she specifically asked for Adrien not to be there.

“He didn't piss you off, did he?” Chloé questioned as they were sat down next to each other, holding up her phone and illuminating the screen to show the messages she'd received since she'd come in. “Because he's just going to whine until I get back to him and say yes or no.”

“No,” Marinette assured her. “I just—I wanted to talk to you alone?”

Chloé squinted. “I heard that question mark.”

“No, you didn't.”

With a hum, Chloé quickly sent a response to him before putting her phone back onto the coffee table. “Okay, what's up?”

Marinette didn't look her in the eyes as she asked, “Why does something have to be up—”

“Because you _like_ watching me bicker with Adrien,” Chloé pointed out. “It's, like, one of your favourite things. So, are you fed up with him or something?”

She sniffed. “Maybe I just missed you.”

“Bullshit,” Chloé shot back. “We went to that café earlier.”

“That was two days ago.”

Waving a hand dismissively, Chloé said, “Details, details.”

There was a lot she'd told Chloé once they'd gotten close; how awkward and out of place she'd felt at university to whenever she felt too overwhelmed, and it was because of that that she had to qualms with admitting, “I think I have a crush on Adrien.”

Chloé threw her hands up in what seemed to be exasperation. “What do you fucking mean _think_?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Do you want to bang him or what, Marinette?” Chloé bluntly asked, turning to face her with her arms crossed. “Because I can tell you, I'm absolutely fed up with him pining after you and asking all of us if you're just sending him mixed signals or some shit.”

It was a lot to take in in such little time. She'd expected Chloé to look at her in amusement, to maybe say that she probably didn't have a chance—all the things she'd said in the past when Marinette had come to her—but not _that_.

“Are you—” Marinette's voice cracked. “Are you teasing me right now?”

Chloé stared right at her and sighed. “That's what you took out of that?”

“What else am I-I supposed to say?” she spluttered, reaching up to run a hand through her hair. “I wanted to talk to you about this, and now I don't know whether you're lying or not—”

“Marinette!” Chloé interrupted, sounding exasperated. “Come on, you're not this dumb.”

Her face grew warm. “You told me he didn't want to sleep with me!”

“Bitch, that was, like, over half a year ago!”

She did have a point there. Still, Marinette shook her head. “He—are you _sure_?”

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Chloé muttered before she sat up properly, collecting her cell phone from the table. She stared at her screen for a bit, a frown on her lips as she looked to find whatever it is she was after, and it was barely a minute later that she turned her phone to face Marinette. “Here, look.”

It was Chloé's texts with Adrien from some days ago, but what really caught her attention was the string of messages from him—complete with the emojis that he always liked to use—that were asking Chloé's opinion on whether or not she thought Marinette returned his feelings.

It also included him being very excited that they hugged while sitting next to each other.

Marinette wasn't quite sure what type of noise she made, but she did look up incredulously to meet her friend's eyes.

“Exactly,” was all Chloé had to say.

She swallowed. “This is—this is a terrible breach of privacy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chloé said dismissively, waving her hand as she put her phone back down again. “You can thank me later for that. Now, are you going to jump his bones or what?”

Her voice was very high as she replied, “I just wanted to maybe hold his hand—”

“Bullshit,” Chloé sang. “How about you tell the truth?”

“I— _no_!” she spluttered, rubbing her palms against her jeans, trying to calm down. “This—I didn't expect this to happen, okay?”

Chloé squinted. “What? Did you expect me to just pretend to be oblivious and cheer you on?”

“ _Yes_?”

Chloé snorted. “Yeah, not happening.”

-x-

After listening to Chloé's invasive input, Marinette made her mind up.

With her hands in the pockets of her coat, scarf tucked up to cover her chin, and a hat pulled down to keep her ears warm, Adrien barely glanced at her as he walked out of work, not quite realising that it was her.

“Adrien!” she called out, standing up from where she'd been leaning against the wall, waiting, and went to be beside him.

His eyes were comically wide as he turned to face her. “Marinette?”

“Hi,” she greeted, taking one hand out of her pocket to wave at him, immediately regretting it due to the weather. Although it hadn't snowed yet, it was cold enough to warrant all of the extra clothing she'd put on. “I almost thought you'd already gone.”

He looked between her and the door he'd just exited. “Were you—I mean, were you waiting for me?”

“Yes,” she admitted without any shame. “You said you needed to go food shopping after, and since I do, too, I thought we could go together?”

“I—yeah?” Adrien sounded stumped, still surprised at her sudden appearance. “I didn't even recognise you.”

She grinned. “That's because it's fucking cold. Sorry, I should've text you or something.”

“I would've checked it halfway down the road,” he explained, putting up the hood of his coat. “The surprise would've been the same.”

And as he fell into step beside her, the two of them going to nearest supermarket, Marinette had to ask, “Are you okay with this? I... I can go back, if you want.”

“No, no,” he quickly said, their shoulders brushing from their close distance. “I'm happy to see you, I promise. I've never had someone pick me up before.”

A laugh escaped her. “I wouldn't really call it picking you up.”

“You're escorting me, then,” he quipped. “Thank you for protecting me, brave knight.”

“I literally waited for you to come outside without telling you,” she pointed out. “Doesn't that kind of count as stalking?”

Adrien's hood fell off as he threw his head back and laughed. “Isn't the point of stalking trying not to be seen?”

“You wouldn't have noticed me if I didn't call your name!”

“I don't know about that,” he mused, putting his hood back up, but it was lopsided and falling off on one side. “You didn't even wait to see if I'd do a double-take or anything.”

Amused, she said, “You started walking away.”

“Maybe I was playing hard to get.” He sniffed, but it wasn't completely for dramatic effect. “I have to keep your interest somehow, don't I?”

Marinette looked down the street, rather than at him, as she shyly admitted, “I don't think that's really needed. I'm pretty interested in you normally.”

“Oh.” It was quiet, barely there, and Adrien's voice was soft as he replied, “That's—that's good to hear.”

And when she turned to look at him out of the corner of her eyes, she wasn't sure whether the redness on his face was due to the weather or not.

She smiled into her scarf.

When they got to the store, Adrien stayed beside her, each of them holding a basket, and he kept turning towards her and asking what aisle she wanted to go down, rather than the two of them separating and meeting back up.

It made her happier than it should've.

But they didn't see each other that often. It was often just texts between their set night once a week to wander over to his apartment—which they'd moved onto watching an old series that he'd insisted that she needed to watch if she wanted to be his friend—and, sure, the excuse of wanting to go shopping with him was flimsy at best, but he wasn't pointing that out.

And she liked spending time with him.

Adrien made her smile until her cheeks hurt, fondness seeping into her voice when she spoke to, or even about him to someone else, and there really wasn't any reason for her to deny that she liked him in a more than platonic way.

With the memory of the texts she'd seen from between him and Chloé, it filled her with hope.

It was when they'd starting climbing up the stairs to get to their floor that she blurted out, “Do you want to come over to mine?”

He looked at her curiously. “Your place?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, nodding. “If—if you're not busy, that is—”

“I just have to put this shopping away, but sure?” It almost sounded like a question at the end. “I mean, I'm honoured that you're inviting me over, but you're not, like, planning to kill me or anything, are you?”

She choked out a laugh. “Pardon?”

“You're being incredibly friendly today,” Adrien replied, only able to hold one hand up to signify surrender, as the other was busy holding his bags. “I'm allowed to be suspicious about that, right?”

Marinette's voice shook with laughter as she said, “I promise not to kill you, Adrien.”

“Oh, that's a relief.” He grinned. “I'll see you soon, then?”

“Yes!” she agreed, maybe coming across a bit too enthusiastic.

And it was only as she fished out her keys that Adrien asked, “Actually, do you want to come to mine first? I have some leftover desserts, if you want to choose from them.”

While it was no secret that Adrien baked at home and took a few things into work, rather than doing everything at the bakery's kitchen, the leftovers he had were usually taken back home (she knew this from the pictures he sent, usually with sad emojis to emphasise how sad he was that the icing had been too bad to sell). “But you didn't bring anything home.”

“That's because I fucked them up, so they couldn't even make it to work,” he explained with a grin. “But they're still edible, I promise.”

They looked just fine to her.

Adrien didn't take too long to put his shopping away, but he did venture into his bedroom to change into more casual clothing, rather than what he'd been wearing all day. Marinette felt a little out of place as she waited for him to come back, but the smile on his face when he wandered back out was more than worth it.

When they started to leave his, she didn't look at him as she quietly asked, “Can you—can you wait here for a minute or two, please?”

He didn't hesitate to agree.

Marinette gently opened her front door before shutting it behind her, going about her usual routine of checking her apartment. It was a routine she'd built up over the years, something that was supposed to make her feel better, but her heart still pounded nervously in her chest as she tried to forget the memories—

Her smile was weak when she opened the door, letting him inside.

He slipped his shoes off without having to be told again.

“Hidden your goods?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows.

She let out a breath of amusement at that. “Yes, I can't have you knowing I'm a drug dealer.”

“You look far too innocent for that.”

“That's why I've gotten away with it for so long,” she teased.

It was easy to fall back into their normal conversation. Marinette offered to cook dinner for the two of them, but they chose to order something instead, despite her outraged look and pointing out how they'd just gone shopping together.

“I barely see you,” Adrien said as his defence. “Let me treat you.”

That made her face feel warm.

It was after they'd eaten, when it was just the two of them sitting comfortably on the sofa together, with her leaning against him with his arm wrapped loosely around her shoulder that she got the confidence to catch his attention by clearing her throat.

He hummed, a non-committal noise that was meant to prompt her to continue.

But rather than speak, she sat up, collecting her phone from the coffee table and purposely opening up what she wanted him to see. There was barely any hesitation, no shaking of her hands to show her nerves, as she turned the device around for him to see the screen clearly.

His expression only grew confused as he read what was there.

“What is this?” he asked softly.

Marinette went with the obvious. “My texts with Chloé.”

“Where—” Adrien cut himself off, sounding strangled. “Where she's telling you to have _sex_ with me?”

Her face burnt. “Yes.”

“I—what?” he questioned, looking a bit rattled as he finally met her gaze. “I don't understand.”

“I saw your texts with her,” she admitted, putting the phone onto her lap, pulling down one of her sleeves to cover half of her hand. “Some about me, I mean. It seemed fair to show you some back.”

But that only made him ask, “...What?”

It wasn't exactly a well thought out plan. Marinette had wanted to get over any feelings of betrayal by embarrassing herself beforehand, hoping that some of the most recent texts to Chloé would be more than enough, but it seemed to only befuddle him.

It probably didn't help that her response to Chloé had been saying that she _didn't_ want to sleep with him.

At least, not at that moment, but she hadn't quite said that.

“I like you,” she blurted out, tugging on her sleeve a little more, hoping that she was coming across sincere. “I—when I brought it up with Chloé, she showed me your texts to—to encourage me, I guess.”

The surprise was still on his face. “She showed you—” Adrien started, pausing only to take in a breath. “She showed you our texts?”

She didn't know how to feel about him focusing on that point. “Yes?”

With a distressed sound, Adrien put his head into his hands, making it so she could no longer see his expression. “No, no,” he said, shaking his head along with his words. “I—that's so _embarrassing_.”

“Adrien—”

“I'm so sorry!” he blurted, hands falling down to his lap as he looked at her with wide eyes. “I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable, I swear—”

She blinked. “What?”

“You don't have to say this to make me feel better or something,” he blabbered on, the redness on the top of his ears becoming apparent, and it definitely wasn't because of the cold. “I understand that we're friends, okay? I'm not—you don't have to—”

A startled laugh escaped her from how strange it had all turned out. “Adrien,” she interrupted, saying his name another as she reached out to gently put her hand on his thigh, trying to get his attention. “I'm not just saying this, okay?”

He looked at her sceptically.

“I like you,” she repeated, wondering whether her face had grown red to match his ears. “And rather than respond normally, Chloé kind of invaded your privacy to—to convince me to do this, I guess.”

She could see it as he swallowed.

“You like me,” he stated, no questioning lilt present in his voice.

Slowly taking her hand back from his thigh, she nodded as her answer.

A shy-looking smile appeared as he repeated, “You like me.”

She wetted her lips. “I do.”

“You like _me_?”

“Yes,” Marinette insisted, bumping her shoulder gently against his, a movement that showed how comfortable she was with him. “How many more times do you have to say it?”

His laughter was breathy. “Maybe a few more.”

“I really like you.” Her smile reached her eyes. “Please, believe me.”

And to her surprise, Adrien replied softly, “I really like you, too.”

“That's—that's good,” she said, nodding her head. “It would've been terribly embarrassing if not.”

Adrien reached out slowly to gently take her hand into his, lacing their fingers together. His touch was almost as soft as his expression. “Does this mean we have to thank Chloé for being our matchmaker?”

She laughed. “Or we could pretend that we haven't said anything to each other?”

“Oh, I like that one,” he agreed, squeezing her hand a little. “But that means I can't ask her for any help on where to take you for our first date.”

Marinette pointed out, “We could just do what we usually do.”

“Indulge me a little.”

“Well, you have to actually _ask_ me first,” she said, retracting her hand from his to push her hair over her shoulder. “Can't make it through life from just assuming, you know.”

He snorted. “I'm terribly sorry—”

“No, you're not,” Marinette retorted, crossing her arms. “I'm having second thoughts about liking you already.”

Adrien laughed. “No wonder you don't want to have sex with me.”

Marinette spluttered, the warmth on her face coming back with a vengeance. “I—that's _not_ what that meant!”

“I don't know about that,” he said, drawing out the last word as he leaned back on the sofa, looking at her with a lopsided smile. “I did read it with my own eyes. I think I know what it means.”

“I just—I want to hold your hand or something first!” she said, wildly gesturing between them. “Besides, you're the one that said you didn't want to sleep with me.”

He made a choked noise. “To _Chloé_?”

“Yes!”

“Months ago!” he defended, looking a bit flustered. “I actually like you now—I mean, in a romantic way. I liked you before as a... I want to befriend you kind of way, but you sort of hated me, so that was a bit awkward.”

She tried really hard not to laugh.

-x-

What they officially classed as their first date was after Marinette had returned from seeing her family for the holiday.

Of course, she didn't keep any secrets from Chloé about what had happened. Chloé had already told her about Adrien complaining to her about revealing his secrets, but Chloé didn't show any guilt whatsoever.

Marinette was really pleased with the last part of the year; sure, she still had panic attacks and expected the worst at times, but the medication wasn't making her feel lethargic or even more depressed, and the addition of Adrien in her life had turned into a really good one.

They started having dinner together a lot more.

As it wasn't exactly clear what they could class as a date—they were neighbours, not like others who hardly saw each other—and Marinette had spent one evening a week round his between texts, all that changed, really, was that they started to see each other a lot more.

The texts continued to flow, ranging from Adrien asking whether she was busy, wishing her a good morning, or updating her about what had happened in his day, and even when she forgot to reply for a few hours, he didn't take any offence to it.

Adrien learned that she was prone to not answer calls on her phone.

And while he found that out about her, she learned that a lot more about him; from the designer father that had barely been there growing up that he didn't talk to any more, the way he had trouble sleeping at night sometimes (after some coaxing, he agreed to text her when that happened to see whether she was up), and that, sometimes, she noticed that his fingers trembled when they were holding hands.

It was something she hadn't really noticed before, but after becoming aware of it, she became better at spotting it out, quickly realising that it seemed to happen at random times.

And as Adrien didn't ask about when she asked him to wait outside her apartment for a few minutes each time, she didn't push him to explain.

He wasn't demanding, which was a good time. Adrien wasn't upset when she said that she didn't feel up to hanging out, or that she didn't want to venture out with him, preferring to stay at home for the most part.

The first time they'd kissed was on his sofa.

It had been soft, gentle, and ever-so-light.

Then, after she'd pulled back to look at him, his smile matching hers, the following kiss was a lot more heated.

But he didn't push her for anything more.

Being with Adrien was easy—it was comfortable, simple, and made her happy. They bickered, yes, but Adrien respected her boundaries when she said that she didn't want to talk about something any further, and she respected him right back. And when she simply wanted to sit on the sofa and hug him after a bad day, there wasn't any complaints from either of them.

She wasn't quite ready to sleep over at his, though.

Adrien didn't press her on it.

They had a routine to eat dinner together most nights—usually at his, as he had the better kitchen—and they stuck to it for the most part. The times where it was changed was when Chloé wandered over, loudly complaining and putting herself between the two of them when they were all sat down.

“I'm not here to see you two being all gross,” was Chloé's go-to phrase, but the smile on her face showed that she really didn't mind.

It was nice.

Adrien worked full-time at the bakery, and while Marinette's schedule was strange, she did try and straighten it out a little so she'd wake up earlier to spend more time with him on his days off, so she wouldn't turn up halfway through with bleary eyes.

He brought up the subject of his friends wanting to meet her again.

While he hadn't avoided mentioning them since his birthday—to which she was thankful—he hadn't proposed meeting them again, not until that moment.

She didn't have any reason not to accept. Alya had continued to talk to her casually, maybe one a week, but she hadn't asked anything more than about Marinette's day, not even mentioning that she knew that Marinette was dating Adrien.

Rather than go out, he invited his two friends over to his home, sending a text to her to say that they were there, and asking what she wanted to order for dinner so it would be there by the time she made it over.

It wasn't too bad, thankfully.

Nino was still as enthusiastic while talking to her, but his actions from Adrien's birthday made sense since Adrien had confessed that he'd liked her back then, and he hadn't exactly been subtle with his friends about it.

And since she'd kept in casual contact with Alya, she didn't find her too bad either. Alya was full of smiles, more than happy to turn to talk to her, ignoring the other two and focusing her attention on her as she mentioned something they'd talked about in passing.

By the end of the evening, Marinette had decided that Adrien's friends weren't as bad as Chloé made them to be. Sure, she wasn't about to spend all her time with them, but she left with Nino's number in her contact list and had talked her way into going out for coffee with Alya sometime.

“Thank you,” Adrien said when they'd left, and he'd paired that with a kiss to the top of her head.

It made he really happy whenever he did that. “For what?”

“Giving them a chance,” he replied, pressing another kiss to her cheek. “You really didn't have to say yes.”

“They're not bad,” Marinette admitted. “Chloé's just a bit dramatic.”

He snorted. “Yeah, a bit.”

As always, when he asked whether she wanted to stay the night, she politely declined.

Nothing in his expression showed that he was upset about it, but she still felt like it was a rejection in a sense. It was a normal part of any relationship to stay at each other's place, but she'd never actually asked him to stay over at hers—

The next time he came over to hers, a few weeks later, she did ask him.

“What?” he asked, turning towards her in surprise.

“Do you want to stay over?” she repeated, reaching up to tuck some stray hairs behind her ear. “You don't have work in the morning, right?”

He looked at her strangely. “Right.”

“You don't have to,” Marinette insisted, a hand moving along with her words. “I just—I know I never stay over at yours, but that doesn't mean I don't want you here.”

Adrien's eyebrows furrowed. “It doesn't?”

Maybe there had been some confusion between them, then. “No,” Marinette said, reaching out to take his hand into her own. “I'm... I don't feel comfortable enough to sleep at anyone else's.”

There was a beat of silence, a moment where they were just looking at each other, before he averted his gaze as he said, “You've stayed at Chloé's.”

She frowned. “That's different.”

“Why?” he blurted before his expression shifted to a cautious one. “I mean, only if you want to tell me. I'm not trying to push you right now or anything.”

There was a lot that she could've told him, but she settled with saying, “Chloé's has good security and I've known her long enough to be comfortable.”

“Security?” he queried.

As an answer, she gestured to the additions she'd had put on her front door. “It's more than you've got, at least.”

“Oh,” was all he said.

“I...” Marinette trailed off, taking back her hand and wiping her palms against her jeans. “I had a bad experience when—when I was younger.”

His voice was soft as he said, “You don't have to tell me.”

“It's not because I don't like you,” she rushed to say, her gaze focused on her lap. “I do, really. I just—I like to feel secure?”

Adrien gently reached out to take one of her hands into his. “Would it change anything if I added some more locks to my door?”

She swallowed. “You don't have to—”

“If it'll help, I want to,” he insisted, lacing their fingers together. “I care about you, Marinette. I thought you—it probably sounds dumb, but I thought, maybe, you were just avoiding anything else happening between us.”

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “What?”

“Well,” Adrien started, his free hand going up to touch his nape as he looked at her sheepishly. “Sleeping together? It makes sense in both ways, I guess.”

It made her laugh. “Really?”

“Hey, don't make fun of me,” he chided, no longer looking embarrassed as he pointed his index finger at her. “I'm fragile, you know.”

She just grinned. “I'm well aware of that by now.”

Childishly, he exaggerated his frown. “You're supposed to say that I'm strong, not agree with me.”

Although it wasn't that night, he did stay over hers first. Marinette was a bit embarrassed when he saw the desk in her bedroom, obviously interested and asking all sorts of questions about what she did, but it did make her smile.

It wasn't awkward between them. They'd been dating a couple of months at that point, sharing heated kisses, lingering touches, and she didn't feel shy about her comfortable pyjamas that she chose to wear (despite Chloé mocking her and saying that she should really invest in something sexier to impress him).

It was clearly the right decision when Adrien changed into his own brightly-coloured trousers to wear to bed.

“Nice,” she praised, laughter clear in her voice.

He struck a pose at that.

And when the room was dark, the two of them curled up in the duvet and trying to get warm due to the lingering cold weather, it was their words that were soft, not their touches.

Marinette spoke quietly as she enquired, “Why do you never ask me?”

“You'll have to be more specific,” he replied from where he was barely an arm's length away, having chosen to sleep on the side that didn't have the wall beside it. “I don't know what you mean.”

She swallowed. “About—about a lot of things.”

There was a beat of silence where she wondered whether he was going to reply at all. Then, the sound of him clearing his throat became apparent, and he slowly answered, “I... I assumed that if you really wanted me to know, you'd tell me.”

That had never really been the case with others, though, especially not those that she'd dated in the past. And yet, Adrien hadn't prodded her for anything about her past with Alya, not why she always wandered into her apartment first, asking for him to stay outside for a bit, and she couldn't appreciate him any more for that.

“I—” Marinette started, her voice breaking as she kept her eyes closed. It wasn't as though she'd be able to see him if she opened them, but she didn't even want to see his dark outline, not when she could imagine the worst expression on him. “I had a lot of therapy.”

After a pause, clearly waiting to see whether she'd add anything on, Adrien simply said, “Okay.”

“When I... I used to be a lot worse than I am now.” A humourless smile appeared on her lips. “Sometimes, it got so bad I—I couldn't go to school for a while, not while my medication wasn't right.”

She could feel it as he shifted in the bed. “Is this why you were worried about Alya recognising you?”

“Kind of,” she admitted. “There's always a lot of rumours when something happens at that age, right? It was—it was hard to keep it a secret, most of the time.”

His response was to say, “Kids suck.”

“Yeah.” A small laugh escaped her at that. “They really do.”

And when he gently reached out to put his hand on her arm, she didn't jump. “Thanks for telling me,” Adrien quietly said, trailing his fingertips along her skin before he settled with holding her hand. “I really appreciate it.”

She snorted. “What? Telling you that I used to be even more messed up?”

“For trusting me.”

There wasn't any reason not to, though; Adrien had wormed his way into her heart, become one of her closest friends, and she felt more than comfortable in his presence. “I didn't see any reason not to.”

“And that's why I feel like I have to thank you,” he said, swallowing thickly. “For giving em a second chance, I mean.”

She shook her head despite him not being able to see her. “We just—we got off on the wrong foot, I guess.”

“I should've stuck my hand out for you to sniff, clearly,” he joked.

Her laughter was slightly more honest. “I don't think that would've worked.

“Well, we'll never know now,” Adrien stated. “It's a complete mystery—just like why I'm in bed with you right now. What brought this on, Marinette?”

She was grinning as she replied, “I'm tired.”

“Oh, yes.” He laughed. “Right, that is a good reason. Thank you for clarifying that.”

He sent her a picture of locks he'd bought the following day.

-x-

“I told him,” Marinette blurted, phone pressed against her ear so her earring made noises as it touched the screen with each step. “About—about why I always ask him to wait outside.”

Chloé made an unimpressed noise. “Did you?”

“Okay, not the _whole_ thing,” she lamely admitted. “But I did tell him about the medication! And he's—he's still here.”

“He's not going to leave you because you have a prescription, don't be an idiot.” It wasn't clear whether Chloé was trying to give her credit to him or her. “I've said you've dated assholes before and that's really fucking clear right now. Well done, you've finally got a nice guy. I'm so proud of you.”

Marinette didn't point out that she'd sounded terribly sarcastic. “I was expecting the worst.”

“That's kind of what you do,” Chloé retorted. “Now, do you want to continue this heart-to-heart, or can I go do something productive?”

“Fine, fine,” she said with a laugh. “Go ahead and run away, coward.”

Chloé's petulant reply was, “I am _not_ running away.”

“I'm sure.”

There was no denying that Chloé had her way of showing that she cared in her own way. But Marinette wasn't offended; she knew how Chloé was, and how awkward she felt showing affection, especially over the phone.

Her relationship with Adrien just seemed to get better. Since putting the new locks on his door, he hadn't actually said anything to her in person about them—had only sent that picture—and he'd looked at bit bashful when he caught her looking at them the next time that she came over.

It really made her happy that he cared enough about her to do that.

And in response to that, it seemed, Adrien opened up about his father to her.

“He wasn't really there,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair as he kept his gaze on the film that they were watching. It was fashion-related, which had brought the subject up in the first place. “I was raised by others because of it, you know? But I never really resented him, not until I was—I was old enough to really understand what was happening.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “That sucks.”

It was the best answer that she could think of, but from the way a small smile appeared on his lips, it was a lot better than saying that she was sorry.

“It does,” he agreed. “I actually... I thought my mother was dead for years.”

That caused her to furrow her brow. She had been under the impression that she _was_ dead—that had been why he'd taken up baking in the first place, as he'd said it was to honour her memory.

“I mean, she _is_ ,” Adrien hastily said when he caught onto her expression. “But I... I thought it was ever since I was little, but it turned out to be almost two years ago.”

She swallowed. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he said lamely. “I don't—my father won't tell me _why_. I thought she died, but it turned out they just got a divorce and she left. That's it.”

All she could really say to that was, “He sounds like a dick.”

“Oh, he is.” He laughed, but it was hollow. “You're not wrong there.”

He didn't expand on the topic any further than that, and she didn't push him.

When there was a lull in their conversation, the television not quite as entertaining, she started to trail kisses up the exposed skin of his neck, along his jaw and grinning as she heard his intake of breath. Marinette easily adjusted herself to sit on his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs with his hands settled on her hips instinctively, the warmth of his skin able to be felt through her t-shirt.

They'd gotten a lot more comfortable with each other. Marinette had been nervous the first time they'd kissed, but when he tilted his head so she could press her lips to his easily, she wasn't thinking about all the things that could go wrong, no; rather, she closed her eyes and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and making it so their chests were touching from their close distance.

She could definitely feel his response from his lap.

And as she rocked her hips into him, just to cause the pleased noise to escape him, she was sure that he could feel her smile as they continued to kiss. She wasn't nervous, though; the pounding of her pulse was located between her legs, not from worrying, and all she could really think about at that moment was how nice he felt against her, along with how soft his lips felt as he gently kissed her, not as intense or passionate as it could've been.

But it was good.

Adrien always gave her a chance to back out, to stop what they were doing, and he'd continued to look out to see whether she was comfortable, even when they were just talking.

Warmth was spiralling and going lower from their actions, her breaths coming a bit faster, and she made a noise of appreciation as he reached up the back of her shirt, fingertips trailing along her skin before he undid her brassiere.

The kiss only broke so she could pull her t-shirt over her head and place it on the arm of the sofa beside them, the brassiere following soon after, the cold air that had been causing her to shiver soon replaced by his hands coming to touch her breasts, cupping them gently. She leaned into his touch, pressing her lips to his again, and she was pleasantly surprised as his tongue brushed over her bottom lip.

And as the kiss deepened, she continued to rock against him, a small pleasurable feeling coming with each movement, but it wasn't quite what she wanted with all the layers in the way.

Adrien was—he'd gotten _locks_ for her.

That said more than he could possibly try and convey vocally.

She dipped her hands beneath his shirt, feeling the smooth skin there before her fingertips trailed across a line that was raised, clearly a scar of some sort from the feel of it, but it didn't stop her in her tracks. Marinette continued her quest as she broke off their kiss, grasping onto the bottom of his t-shirt as she tugged it off, setting it clumsily down beside her own.

It was the first time she'd actually taken it off for him.

With a kiss to his jawline, causing him to let out a laugh, she pressed kisses to his skin as she trailed lower, getting up from his lap to sink down to the ground in front of him, the coldness of the floor not quite able to be felt through her clothing.

Adrien didn't protest as she undid his trousers, drawing attention to his arousal when his underwear was revealed, the waistband easy to move and pull down to reveal more of him.

The noise he made when she licked his tip was more than worth it.

With one hand grasping the bottom of his member, the part that she wouldn't be able to reach fully with her mouth, she held onto his thigh with the other. She squeezed him gently as she continued to mouth over his tip, not quite committing to it completely at first.

And when she peeked upwards to see his expression, the parted lips and the curve of his eyebrows was definitely nice to look at. Marinette met his gaze, grinned, before she closed her eyes as she took more of him into her mouth, trailing her tongue along the length of him. It wasn't as awkward as she'd thought it would be, thankfully; if anything, his reactions were spurring her on.

She bobbed her head slowly, trying to apply the right amount of pressure to please him, and the noises that escaped him were clear indicators that she was doing fine. She tried to relax her throat to take him deeper, fingers coming into contact with her lips, but it didn't last very long.

But Adrien didn't seem to complain about that.

Her teeth grazed against him at some points, and she paused in her movements to see whether he'd say anything about it—anything at all—but a glance upwards proved that his eyes were closed from pleasure as his head lulled back against the sofa.

It wasn't long until she could feel the way his thigh clenched beneath her hand, arousal twitching in her mouth, and she tried to relax her throat again to make the experience easier.

And as he shuddered against her, she quickly swallowed the warmth, waiting until there wasn't any more before pulling back and reaching up to wipe at her mouth.

Adrien's face was visibly flushed as he returned her grin sheepishly.

“Thanks for the warning,” Marinette said without any heat as she sat down beside him, not feeling embarrassed about her state of undress. “I almost had a heart attack, you know.”

His voice was a bit breathless as he replied, “I'm glad you're okay.”

“No thanks to you,” she claimed, crossing her arms in a way that made her breasts more pronounced due to the lack of clothing.

He laughed. “I'm sorry?”

“As you should be.” She sniffed. “I regret doing that now.”

“I promise to give you a warning next time?” he offered, shifting over to place a kiss to her cheek. “I was a bit—well, too preoccupied to think about that.”

She laughed. “I guess that's a compliment.”

“It really is,” he assured her.

When he leaned forward to kiss something other than her cheek, Marinette had to turn her head to dodge his kiss. “I'd prefer a drink first.”

He gasped. “I guess that's _not_ a compliment.”

“Maybe.”

-x-

They started spending more time at each other's houses.

During the week, it was usually her staying over, but it rarely happened. Adrien had to get up early for work—even earlier to start baking before he crawled back into bed with her—but Marinette was a deep sleeper, not startled awake from noises throughout the apartment.

The first time she woke up and wandered into the kitchen to see some of his baking cooling on the side, she'd been shocked that he'd managed to do it at all.

“It's easier,” he explained sleepily. “If I can transport it without breaking anything, all I have to do is decorate it when I go in, and it's all fine.”

She squinted. “Shouldn't you just do all of this at the shop?”

“Yeah, but that requires me leaving my bed more.” Adrien wrinkled his nose at that. “It's okay, I'm only assigned for this and mostly decorating. Someone else has the hard stuff.”

“You don't sound very responsible right now.”

Adrien laughed. “Oh, you're only just noticing?”

Still, it was strange to see what he'd managed to do while she was asleep. The first time she'd woken up, only to check her phone to confirm that he'd already gone to work, she'd had mixed feelings on what to feel about that. It was nice that he trusted her enough to leave her in his home, but she hadn't gotten any warning—she'd sort of expected him to wake her up and awkwardly ask her to leave.

But that didn't happen at all.

She did tell him when she left, but his reply came a few hours later.

When she told him that she'd felt a bit out of place because of that, he'd admitted that he didn't really think anything of it.

“But I trust you,” he'd said, echoing her thoughts. “Sorry, I—I didn't really consider your reaction. That was bad of me.”

It just made her like him even more.

Although Chloé liked to pretend that she didn't want to hear anything about their relationship, she did constantly text and ask for updates—since most of Marinette's remarks about her life that week were about her time with Adrien—whenever Adrien's name popped up, Chloé made dramatic responses, saying that their relationship was making her sick.

“Disgusting,” Chloé would say. “Absolutely gross. I don't want to hear about him kissing your ass.”

But she absolutely knew that Chloé liked it really.

While Marinette wasn't big on going out for flashy dates—like Chloé did and happily posting online—she did go out with Adrien sometimes, but it was usually childish things. They went bowling, mini-golf, and even a petting zoo after he'd admitted that he'd never been to one when he was younger. They weren't the most romantic places, sure, but he was fun to be around.

Alya worked her way up to being called Marinette's friend. They weren't amazingly close, and she definitely wasn't the first person Marinette would go to with a problem, but she could admit that she liked her by that point.

The next time she saw Alya and Nino in person, it was in a restaurant with Adrien by her side as they sat together for lunch. Marinette was mostly happy to listen to them bickering with each other, and she didn't feel excluded, but all three of them kept looking towards her for input, making it so she really wouldn't be neglected.

It was nice.

The only conflict, if it could be called that, was what Alya asked how long they'd been dating.

“Three months,” Marinette said.

Adrien, on the other hand, replied, “Four months.”

She let out a laugh as he turned to look at her, utterly offended. “I went to visit my parents, remember?” Marinette pointed out, going as far to also point her cutlery at him. “Our first date was when I got back, so it doesn't count.”

“This is terrible,” he groaned, dramatically resting his elbow on the table, chin propped up by his hand. “I have to change what's on my calender now.”

Ignoring the laughter of his friends, she asked, “...What?”

“Our anniversary!”

He was absolutely ridiculous, but she truly liked him.

While she felt a bit awkward being affectionate with him in public—something she'd rarely done with others; well, the romantic kind, not platonic affection—she had qualms about returning his kisses and practically sitting on his lap when they were alone. It was different when neither of their friends were there to smile knowingly at them or raise their eyebrows, especially not Chloé.

Chloé still continued to sit between them, saying that they couldn't be gross when she was there.

“This really isn't what I wanted,” Chloé grumbled when she walked into Marinette's apartment. “I thought—I don't know—that you'd maybe be reluctant friends and it would be because of me that you put up with each other at all.”

Marinette laughed, stepping out of the way for her after checking the inside. “And why's that?”

“Because I want it to be about me,” Chloé shot back, being petty and sliding the locks into place on the door, trying to make it so Adrien wouldn't be able to visit them after a few minutes. “But now all I hear about is you two and it's _terrible_.”

She snickered. “It's not that bad.”

Chloé kicked off her shoes with too much force. “Adrien's posting pictures of you two—it's awful. I don't want the first thing I see in the morning to be your face.”

“Don't look, then.” She shrugged. “Simple.”

“Shut up,” Chloé muttered. “I didn't ask for your input.”

Marinette looked at her with a blank expression. “My input is that you should open the door for Adrien.”

“Yeah, _no_.”

It couldn't have made her happier that the two closest people to her were also friends.

The difference between how her life had been almost a year ago to how it was then was astounding. When Marinette took her medication, she sometimes stared down at the pills in her hand, wondering whether she really needed them.

She was happier, yes, but that didn't fix everything. It didn't mend all the damage of the past, magically make it so she was no longer considered depressed and all the other things—being with Adrien wasn't a _cure_ , even if it felt like it at times.

It was just another reminder that everything wasn't quite right with her.

But Marinette had been doing well. The panic attacks had gone down, mostly happening in private, rather than where Adrien could see her—he knew that she had them, had surely been told by Chloé what to do if it happened, but she didn't really want to pass that hurdle just yet. It wasn't a matter of trust—it was just how she felt.

Opening up to him wasn't easy, but she was getting there.

“I didn't have that many friends,” Marinette admitted when they were talking about their childhood. “When I was really young, I mean. I spoke to everyone, yeah, but I never liked them enough to invite them back home—this was before I even made friends with Chloé.”

“You?” he questioned, grinning. “A little fussy social butterfly?”

She huffed. “Yeah, used to be.”

“Why weren't they good enough to invite home?” Adrien asked, dramatically draping his arm over her shoulders. “I need to know the requirements, just so I can meet your parents someday.”

It would be lying to say that didn't make her chest feel warm. “You're on a good track right now.”

“I am?” His smile reached his green-coloured eyes. “What do I have that the other kids didn't, then?”

She tried not to smile as she bluntly replied, “I'm interested in your dick.”

Adrien's laughter sounded like he was choking.

“Okay, okay,” she said once she'd calmed down from her own laughter, voice wobbling still. “I was kind of obsessed with my neighbour?”

He was still smiling as he looked at her in surprise. “...That's not at all what I was expecting.”

“She was really interesting, okay,” Marinette defended herself, moving away from his arm. “I don't even remember when she started coming over to visit, but she was friends with my parents. Whenever they were busy, I'd always go over to hers—which turned out to be every day after school.”

He hummed. “So, you wanted her all to yourself.”

With a laugh, she corrected him with, “Well, I didn't want to share her baking with anyone else.”

“You spoiled thing,” Adrien said. “Are you using me for mine now?”

Marinette didn't hesitate to reply, “Definitely.”

“Don't admit to your crimes!”

She raised her eyebrows. “It's not a crime that you liked to be used.”

“Being used by you doesn't sound so bad, honestly,” Adrien replied, no hint of shame as his grin widened when she caught onto the extra meaning. “Oh, come on. I thought you intended to say it like that!”

Through her laughter, she chastised him, “You're _terrible_.”

“Terribly in love with you,” Adrien stated, the fondness in his tone mirrored by his expression.

“Oh.” There was no denying the sudden highness of her voice, or the way that she was staring at him in surprise. “I—that doesn't sound so bad.”

He threw his head back and laughed.

-x-

“It's our anniversary,” Adrien said as he waltzed into her home, a plastic bag in his hand containing their dinner. He'd offered to grab something on his way back from work, and she'd happily taken him up on that, as long as she'd pay for the next. “Do you want to know what your present is?”

She squinted. “No, it's not.”

“Yes, it is,” he corrected, having the audacity to poke the end of her nose with his finger, grinning wildly. “It's like you're not even aware of what the date is.”

“...Adrien, we've been dating, like, three months.”

He waved a hand dismissively, the other putting the bag onto her countertop. “Not that anniversary.”

“I literally have no idea what you're talking about.”

Adrien winked. “The anniversary of you telling me to fuck off.”

A startled laugh escaped her. “I don't think that's really something to celebrate.”

“Sure, it is,” he said, not sounding upset in the slightest from the reminder. “I mean, look at us now? I thought you were going to slam the door in my face, but we're slamming instead now.”

“... _Adrien_.”

He threw his hands up. “That was funny!”

“I want to die,” she lied through her laughter, shaking her head at him. “Why do you even remember when that was?”

“Okay, I kind of don't,” Adrien admitted, gesturing towards her cupboard for her to get the plates for them. How comfortable he was in her home had come a long way, too. “I just know that it was this month, that's all. I was just taking a guess.”

She laughed. “You're ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but for some reason, you like that,” he pointed out.

There was no denying that.

And later, once her eyes were growing tired and she was almost falling asleep against him, Adrien decided that was a good time to show her what her present for their anniversary was, even though she kept saying that it really didn't count as that.

“Let me have this,” he chastised, going as far as to point his finger at her.

The present he'd been waiting to give her was a key to his place.

“We're neighbours,” she lamely said when he dropped it into her hand. “We're close enough that I can hear you scream.”

“Yeah, but do you think anyone has heard _you_ scream—” Adrien started, only to interrupt himself with a laugh and hold his hands up in a sign of surrender. “I'm kidding. I just—I thought it would be nice?”

She really didn't know what to say. “I always lock your door with your spare key when you go to work.”

“You don't have to give this one back,” he pointed out. “Isn't that a good thing?”

Her hand curled around the key as she stuttered, “I—thank you.”

That just made him smile wider. “You're welcome.”

And some time later, after she'd attached the key onto her own while he was watching, she returned the gesture with gasped breaths and curled toes as Adrien pressed kisses into her neck, sometimes nipping the sensitive flesh there and making her respond positively, a second finger gently joining the first inside her.

It was almost frustrating how slow and tentative he was being, making sure not to hurt her, and she was shifting her hips to meet his fingers, trying to make them go deeper. There wasn't any pain present, only a warm and wonderful feeling inside of her, and the thundering of her pulse was a good sign that she was enjoying herself.

The pillow was soft beneath her head, most of her clothing discarded, and she was more than happy with the sight of him shirtless in front of her. Marinette reached up and gently tugged on his head, making it so he pulled back away from her neck, and eagerly kissed him. Adrien adjusted his position to make it more comfortable for the both of them, his thumb trailing over her sensitive nub and causing her to moan in appreciation.

With each caress of his fingers, she was sure that she was getting louder, but the noises were muffled against his lip, the kiss desperate and letting him know how she was feeling.

It was her that shifted away, making him pull his hand away. And when she opened her eyes to see his reddened lips, the intense way that he was looking at her from the dimmed light of the lamp on her bedside table, she swallowed.

“I really love you,” Marinette said.

His answer was to kiss her deeply.

He remembered where she kept everything when she looked down pointedly at his lap. Adrien grinned, pressing one more kiss to her lips before he climbed off of her, opening the drawer beside them as Marinette took off the rest of her clothing, throwing it carelessly on the floor.

Adrien's followed soon after, along with the foil packet going onto the bedside table.

After propping up the pillows, she settled down on them once more, spreading her legs to make room for him fit between them. She laughed as he placed a kiss on her forehead, such an affectionate gesture that she really appreciated, and she didn't hesitate to turn her head to kiss him properly again.

She shifted closer to him, the warmth of his skin telling of where he was, and when she felt him pressing against her, there was only a small amount of hesitate before he pushed in. Adrien's gasp of appreciation almost wasn't heard, but it was definitely something that she paid attention to.

As always, he waited to see whether she was comfortable or not, giving her time to adjust to the change. And when she was, she impatiently raised her hips, arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers running through his hair as she continued to kiss him, trying to urge him to continue.

The first thrust was slow.

Marinette eagerly raised her hips to meet him, unsteady breaths escaping her, and she soon broke the kiss to try and make things a little easier. Adrien had one of his hands on her hip—the reassuring grip there one that she appreciated—and the other keeping him upright, their chests touching from their closeness.

The sound of their slick skin filled the room along with their moans, the wetness between her legs meaning that each roll of his hips was accompanied by noise. The hands in his hair fell to his shoulder, nails digging into his back as a gasp left her with every thrust, the sensations building up and making her feel pleasure with each movement.

The way they were positioned meant that he was brushing against her sensitive nub with each inconsistent rocking of his hips, and the pleasure that she was feeling was becoming a little too much.

There wasn't much of a rhythm to his movements; it was erratic with him sometimes stilling for a moment to try and regain his breath, but she wasn't complaining. His breaths were as long as hers as he continued to thrust, the grip on her hip becoming tighter, and her moans were almost muffled from how she was pressing her face into his exposed neck, her nails digging into his back.

Her legs tightened around him, body almost falling slack from her sudden gasp, and she tried to take in a deep breath, not quite able to lift her hips to meet his thrusts as Adrien continued to rock into her before suddenly shuddering, almost losing his balance and falling against her.

As well as being able to feel it, she could hear how he was struggling to regain his breath. Marinette simply pressed a kiss to his neck, sure that he was able to feel her smile, and waited for him to recover enough to move.

He sounded breathless as he said, “Happy anniversary.”

She shook from her laughter. “You're so ridiculous.”

-x-

Marinette didn't miss the pained noise he made as she hugged him.

“Adrien?” she questioned, pulling back and letting her arms fall back down to her side. “What's wrong?”

“Sorry,” he said, not quite looking her in the eyes as they started to walk down the street. As they ate dinner together most of the time, they'd decided that going food shopping together was a good idea after the first time. “I just—I wasn't looking where I was going, that's all.”

He'd had a couple of bruises, sure, but he'd never reacted quite like _that_.

She persisted and asked, “What happened?”

After a beat of silence, he admitted, “I tripped over your shoes this morning.”

She didn't question it any more than that.

It was no secret that he had bruises from time to time, but she'd just never actually cause him to make such a noise from accidentally touching one before, that was all.

“You're terrible,” she chastised, poking his shoulder. “You've got to be more careful.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said again. It wasn't very sincere, but he did smile at her. “You're not going to cancel us going to see your parents, will you?”

There wasn't any chance of her doing that. Her parents were excited to meet him, and while it was obvious that Adrien was nervous, he did keep asking different questions, wanting to do his best to impress them. Marinette had said multiple times that they were bound to like him no matter what—they had been overjoyed when they'd met Chloé, after all—but he was still convinced that he needed to do something to make a good first impression.

According to him, that meant her holding a box with a cake in it on her lap for their entire ride.

“If they don't like me, it's because of your slippery hands,” he proclaimed.

Marinette just laughed at that.

The journey wasn't too bad. Adrien didn't get stressed while driving, and his favourite activity seemed to be singing along badly to the songs that came on the radio since neither of them had had the smart idea to put a playlist together.

They were almost there when he asked, “It's just your parents we're meeting, right?”

“Yeah, no one else from the family,” she assured him. “It's not—don't worry too much, okay? We're just there for dinner then coming back. It won't be some big family reunion.”

“I'm still freaking out and you can't stop me,” was his answer. “Does this mean I really don't qualify to meet your wonderful neighbour yet?”

It took her a moment to realise what he even meant. “I—Adrien,” Marinette said, surprise clear in her voice. “You still remember that?”

He looked at her strangely as he replied, “Yeah, of course.”

“You barely remember your shopping list—”

“But this is about you,” he pointed out. “I try and remember those things. And, hey, don't try and dodge the subject.”

As nice as it was that he'd remembered such a little titbit from when she'd spoken about her childhood, she reached up to tuck some hair behind her ear as she admitted, “My parents moved houses close to five years ago.”

“Oh, that's a shame,” he remarked.

“Sorry,” Marinette said, adjusting her grip on the cake when they went over a bump in the road. “Besides, she died... I think it was two years ago? I'm not really good on the dates.”

Rather than offer his apologies for that, he settled for saying, “That's lame.”

It made her laugh from just how strange that remark was and how very fond she was of him.

As she'd hoped, her parents loved him. They marvelled over the cake—the icing on top was a bit ruined due to her pressing down on it awkwardly—and took pictures of it, sending it to all their friends and wanting to express just how happy they were that she'd managed to snag a boyfriend that wanted to impress them so.

And Adrien was as friendly as ever, able to keep up with their conversations and give his input with little hesitation, his laughter and smiles not at all forced as the time went on.

She definitely put her hand down on them showing him old pictures of her.

“Absolutely not,” Marinette firmly stated, swatting away any attempts of her mother reaching for their photo albums, regardless of it was a physical copy or the pictures she'd put onto her phone. ”

Adrien found that a bit too amusing.

But it was a success. Her parents seemed to like him even more when he admitted that he'd known Chloé since he was a kick, although he did have to say that they hadn't seen each other for many years until they'd seen each other in the bakery, all those months ago with Marinette.

It was a nice feeling to see him interacting so easily with her family.

“You are so _good_ ,” Marinette exclaimed, hugging him tightly when he let her into his apartment afterwards. She'd gone back to hers to change into her pyjamas, not bothered by walking over in her slippers any more. “What were you even nervous about?”

Adrien returned the run enthusiastically. “ _Everything_?”

“If I didn't know you, I wouldn't have been able to tell that you were nervous,” she said, turning her head so she could look up at him, their height difference making it easy. “I'm sorry you can't see me panicking about meeting your family.”

He made a thoughtful noise. “Nino counts, I guess.”

“...I'm friends with Nino.”

“Well, you clearly succeeded, then,” Adrien responded, leaning back so he could lift a hand and mockingly pat the top of her head. “Good job, Marinette. My stand-in father approves of you.”

She squinted. “You don't call him daddy, do you?”

He had the gall to wink. “Not while you're around.”

She choked on her laughter.

It was a normal evening for them from then onwards. Marinette had shyly come home the previous week with an extra toothbrush for each of their homes, nervous to show them to him, but his positive reaction had made her question why she was hesitant about it in the first place. She didn't have to wander back to her apartment to get her belongings any more—but she didn't leave any clothes at his, and hers was free of his, too.

She didn't exactly have a free drawer for him to use.

When she woke up in the middle of the night, Marinette frowned up at the ceiling before she sat up, turning to the side to see whether Adrien was beside her. There was a small amount of light coming through the crack of the door, enough to see that he was missing, and she sleepily climbed over where he was supposed to be to pad across the room.

A glance at the clock proved that it was a good hour before dawn.

“Adrien?” she called out, voice thick from sleep.

Although she knew that he woke up early to bake—the smell lingered sometimes and was there when she finally crawled out of bed—she'd never actually caught him in the act before, not in the morning. Marinette treasured her sleep too much, and he never made enough noise to actually wake her up before.

Then again, she didn't know if it was because of the noise that she was awake at all.

Rubbing her eye with the palm of her hand, she wandered out into the hallway, following the light to the kitchen.

But there wasn't anything there; no mixing bowls, nothing cooking in the oven, and only the light overhead was left on.

Maybe he hadn't started.

She wandered over to the bathroom, knocking first with a tired call of his name before she opened the door. She clumsily reached for the switch, turning on the light—

He wasn't there.

“Adrien?” she called again, voice becoming louder.

He wouldn't—he wouldn't have left, would he? It was far too early for any nearby shops to be open, he didn't smoke, and he definitely wasn't active enough to go running in the morning.

And when she turned around to check the front door, the extra locks he'd bought were still in place—

They proved that he hadn't gone out the front door.

There wasn't any other exits, though. It was a locked room situation where she'd only just woken up, and thinking of such ridiculous things was definitely _not_ what she should've been doing. But he wasn't in bed, wasn't sat in on the sofa, and she'd looked just about everywhere in the apartment without a hint of him.

Her breaths were coming out fast.

It was ridiculous, something that she was dreaming—

Maybe, just maybe, it would take a turn for the worst and if she turned towards the kitchen, there would be a foreign liquid there that would be red-coloured, a reoccurring nightmare that had plagued her—

She squeezed her eyes shut, both of her palms coming up to dig into them, willing the black spots to replace where her mind was going to. It wasn't good—she knew that—but she was too preoccupied with trying to calm herself down to think of a logical explanation for what was going on.

“Marinette?” she heard, but it sounded muffled, not quite there.

It wasn't just the pressure on her eyes that were causing the black spots.

When she became coherent again, limbs feeling heavy and lethargic, she opened her bleary eyes to see Adrien kneeling down in front of her.

She jumped backwards, startled.

When did she get on the floor?

He was looking at her in concern, that much was clear, but her vision quickly became blurred with building tears.

“You're here.” Her voice cracked.

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “I am,” Adrien confirmed, adjusting his position to be more comfortable. “Did I wake you up?”

“I— _what_?”

“Was I too loud?” His words were quiet, barely there, and he offered out a hand to help her up. “I didn't mean to, I'm sorry.”

It sounded so strange to her. Marinette accepted his hand and stood up on wobbly legs, sluggish and confused as she turned her head to see the flour sprinkled across the countertop, the mixing bowl filled with some sort of dough, and a baking parchment covering a tray, innocently sitting empty beside all of it.

Her stomach churned uncomfortably.

That—it hadn't been _there_.

“Marinette?”

But Adrien was right there, standing before her with concern clear on his expression, reaching a hand out to gently up it on her shoulder in what should've been a comforting way.

Marinette flinched away.

She—nothing made _sense_. The logical explanation was right there, that maybe she just hadn't seen him, but she was so very sure that she wasn't making things up, she'd never—

But that never seemed to matter before.

The bile burned her throat as she stumbled into the bathroom.

Adrien didn't follow her in. She was too preoccupied trying to talk herself through it, saying grounding things in an attempt to grasp at logic, and seeing his face would've only made it worse at that moment.

It was probably the lowest she'd felt since meeting him—the worst in so many months, something she'd hoped that she'd pushed past.

It was just another reminder that Adrien wasn't a cure; nothing ever would be, no matter how much she wanted it.

When she came out some time later, her eyes were red, her throat felt sore, and the smell of baked goods only made her stomach churn.

Adrien had gone back to preparing for work, giving her some privacy.

Rather than asking if she was okay, he quietly asked, “Is there anything I can do?”

Her voice cracked. “No.”

And when she stuttered out an apology before saying that she was going to go back to bed, Adrien didn't voice any complaints. The thought of his bed was much better—safer—than wandering back to her apartment.

She pulled the duvet over her head.

When he came in and kissed her forehead before going to work, she pretended to be asleep.

Her throat felt tight.

-x-

They avoided the subject for two days.

Well, Marinette did. She couldn't look him in the eyes for a while, irrationally embarrassed and overthinking what had happened, while Adrien just continued on as though nothing had happened, not asking for any sort of explanation.

It kind of made her feel worse.

When she told Chloé what had happened, her voice shaky and giving away that she was holding back tears on the phone, the advice given was blunt and telling her to just _talk_ to him.

She kept checking that things were where she remembered them.

Of all the things that she could've said to start it off, she blurted out over dinner, “I couldn't find you.”

He looked at her questionably, mouth full.

“The other morning,” Marinette corrected herself, choosing to stare down at her food instead of being able to see his shift in expression. “I—I panicked because you weren't there.”

His voice was soft as he simply said, “Oh.”

“It hasn't happened for a while,” she started, stirring her food but making no move to eat any more. “I just—some things set me off, and I guess I... I was just tired.”

“You really don't have to explain,” Adrien assured her. “You didn't—you didn't do anything wrong, Marinette.”

She swallowed. “Still—”

“It's okay to have feelings, you know,” he said, but it came out flat. “I'm sorry for freaking you out.”

It really wasn't his fault that she hadn't seen him, but she couldn't muster up the courage to look up at him. “Yeah.”

His attempt to lighten the mood was to ask, “Anything in particular you want to watch?”

Her smile was half-hearted, but she did appreciate him.

But the way he handled the situation, not making her feel as though she was in the wrong, was comforting. He hadn't reacted negatively, not like others had in the past, and the way he'd avoided prodding her for any further answers was wonderful.

She was so very thankful her parents liked him.

Adrien didn't treat her any differently. His expression when he looked at her was as fond as ever, smile reaching his eyes, and when he was close enough for her to see the blond on the end of his eyelashes, she couldn't help but feel so lucky that he wanted to be with her—

Of course, she made sure to convey that to him through words and actions.

And another thing she liked about him was that he was patient. When it came time for Chloé's birthday, the night before they found themselves in his kitchen. Adrien was slowly talking her through the steps to bake a cake together, not at all annoyed when she questioned a step or looked towards him for guidance.

“You're doing great,” he said when she voiced her doubts, and he even pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

It really made her feel loved.

Chloé's great plan was to have a large party in the evening, complete with the drinks put onto her tab for the people she liked, but Marinette always arrived in the afternoon to spend some time with her.

She dragged Adrien along with her that year.

Chloé pulled a face at that. “Does he really need to be here?”

Marinette laughed, gesturing towards the box that he was holding. “He's doing the heavy labour.”

Her upper lip curled in distaste. “This better be worth it if I have to see you two being gross.”

Chloé loved the cake, even more so when Adrien said that Marinette had done most of the work with just him supervising her.

Then, when it came time for her to open her presents, she opened the first and stared down at the pile of fabric on her lap. “This is far too small for me to wear.”

Marinette laughed. “That's because you're not meant to.”

“What?” Chloé picked up the piece of clothing with her thumb and index finger, staring at it with furrowed brows. “What the fuck is this?”

“A first look of some of the dog clothing I'm going to sell,” Marinette explained, smile growing larger as her friend's expression turned dumbfounded. “Your other gift's a matching set.”

And when Chloé ripped the next present open to confirm that it really was, she laughed. “I don't have a fucking dog to match.”

Adrien passed her his present with a flourish.

As soon as Chloé saw the stuffed dog that was inside it, she threw it at his face.

Marinette's cheeks hurt from smiling.

The night wasn't so bad. Unlike the previous year where Chloé had gotten everyone to go to a nightclub, it was a similar night to Adrien's birthday, but a lot more people were there. Chloé's popularity online meant that there were a lot of people there taking pictures—of themselves only or with others included, too—and a lot of the talk went over Marinette's head, as she wasn't all that knowledgeable about Chloé's life.

There were a few people she recognised from the previous years, but for the most part, she stuck with Adrien. He was more than happy to stay with her and strike up a conversation with anyone else that wandered over to them, but it wasn't many, not unless Chloé ushered them over and made a big ordeal about introducing her to new people.

Adrien didn't pressure her to drink anything alcoholic.

“I don't really like it,” he said with a shrug when she asked whether he wanted to have any. “It just—I don't really like not being in control, you know? Plus, most of it tastes bad. I'd rather not.”

She smiled at that. “I understand completely.”

And she did, she really did. That was the main reason she didn't do it; sure, she'd tried when she was younger, had gotten drunk with Chloé in the safety of her room on more than one occasion, but it didn't make anything _better_. It wasn't worth it.

But being with him definitely was.

Marinette stuck around late enough to make sure that Chloé made it home safely. Adrien helped her the whole time, catching Chloé when she tripped over from her intoxicated state, and the drive back to their homes was filled with the quiet sound of the radio as she stared out of the window, eyes starting to fall from sleep.

“Come on, you,” Adrien murmured, coaxing her out of the car and helping her up the stairs to their floor.

The way he looked after her made her feel loved.

After that, Chloé continued to pester her to do more than put up the dog clothing for sale. Chloé put up a picture of her wearing the shirt with the ridiculous stuffed dog in her arms, advertising where she'd bought it from—and it took Marinette a moment to realise that she was endorsing her.

But she really didn't know how to feel about that. Chloé had always said she'd do it, that she wanted Marinette to pursue what made her happy, but Chloé always thought that going back to her original goal would be a good thing.

“I don't know,” Marinette said when Adrien asked her whether she was really going to look into selling the shirts in the future. There was enough interest to warrant her doing it, and since she'd just be designing them and trying to find somewhere to make them, it would still leave her enough time for the dolls. “I just—it was supposed to be a gift.”

He pointed out, “A really good gift.”

“I guess,” she mumbled, flattered that he thought so. “I haven't... I don't really know if I want to do that.”

He didn't push her for another answer.

Fashion was—she'd liked it. She'd taken comfort in looking at the different designs as she was growing up, staring at magazines and wanting to recreate looks when she was old enough to afford to material, but how she'd had to awkwardly drop out of university had caused her to stay away from anything human-sized.

“I wasn't comfortable,” Marinette admitted when she started to open up to Adrien about it. “It... I never really felt safe there, you know? I was a lot jumpier than I am now, so the thin walls made me scared all the time.”

He nodded along. “But you liked the course, didn't you?”

“I did.” Her smile didn't reach her eyes. “I tried travelling from home for my second year, but I—it wasn't a good time for me, I think.”

Then, he asked something that she hadn't thought of. “Would you say it is now?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out as she contemplated her answer. She'd been doing okay—really good compared to before—but considering how she'd panicked when she couldn't find Adrien in the morning?

It was the most emotional she'd gotten in a while, and it was still fresh in her mind. Reacting like that in front of Adrien was one thing, but if something like that had happened in a _class_?

She couldn't meet his gaze as she said, “Probably not.”

He didn't prod her any further, and she really appreciated that about him.

As the requests for shirts to match Chloé's kept coming in, Marinette did look into finding somewhere to make clothing for her. It wasn't as though it was complicated; a few prints on a generic t-shirt, something anyone could do and sell for merchandise for their channel or something, so the only thing she had to do was make sure that it matched the other things she'd planned to put on her site.

Chloé was more than enthusiastic about it.

“ _Yes_!” Chloé exclaimed, voice so loud that Marinette had to pull the phone away from her ear a bit. “Gabriel can fuck right off.”

“...I literally have no idea what that means,” Marinette replied slowly.

Chloé sounded offended as she said, “What?”

“Who's Gabriel?”

Chloé got louder and a bit high-pitched as she asked, “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes?” Marinette replied, baffled.

And from the way Chloé said that she'd have to talk to Adrien about that, she had to assume that it was the name of his father. Marinette had seen Adrien's surname in passing from his mail, but she'd never actually looked into it before; he didn't talk about his father enough to warrant wanting to know anything about him, not when he was so absent that Marinette probably wasn't going to ever meet him.

Curiously, she typed in Gabriel Agreste online to see what sort of results would turn up.

Successful ones, it seemed. When Adrien had said that he was a designer, he'd neglected to mention just how successful he was; with a new collection each year for almost two decades that had all been a hit, along with appearances of radio shows, pages in magazines, and a secure home in an expensive part of the country, there was a stark difference between him and Adrien.

She didn't type in Adrien's name, didn't look into Gabriel's personal information that was up there for anyone to see on the internet, but she still felt like she'd learned something that she really shouldn't.

But it was clear that Adrien didn't hate fashion; he'd been all for her getting her own designs out there, been so supportive of the little outfits she'd made for the dolls that she sold, and he'd never said a bad word about them. It had always seemed like what fashion was to her, it was baking to him—and it had never occurred to her that he might've had some bad feelings towards it because of his father.

“When I told Chloé about the t-shirts,” Marinette started when they were cooking dinner together. “She mentioned your father.”

The knives were where she always kept them.

Adrien was by her side, chopping vegetables on the countertop. He didn't look up from what he was doing as he said, “Oh, did she?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “It didn't... I don't really understand why she said it.”

“Well, what did she say?” he asked, not sounding upset in the slightest.

Her lips tugged into a small smile as she repeated, “She said Gabriel can fuck off?”

The laugh that escaped him wasn't forced. “That sounds like her,” he agreed. “Chloé probably just means because you're doing fashion now.”

“It still doesn't make sense to me.”

“It's an old reference,” Adrien admitted, setting the knife down carefully. “I always used to say that I hated any designer that came into my house when I was little. She's just going to gloat and say you're classed as that now.”

She blinked. “...Okay.”

They didn't bring it up after that. After finishing their food, Marinette was draped across him comfortably with a book on her lap while he watched something on the television, the lull in their conversation not at all awkward, and it was only when she'd read the same sentence a few times that she brought it back up.

“Do you hate fashion?” Marinette blurted out.

“Pardon?”

“Since, you know,” she said, gesturing awkwardly beside them for a lack of something better to do. “You kind of hate your father, and apparently had some grudge against designers that I didn't know about, so does that mean you don't like it in general?”

There was no other way to describe his expression than fond. “No, I don't hate fashion.”

“Are you sure?” she questioned, sitting upright and putting the book down beside her.

“Oh, come on,” Adrien said, reaching up and running a hand through her hair. “You know me, Marinette. If I hated something, I'm sure you'd be aware of it by now.”

To defend herself, she spluttered, “I'm just trying to make sure.”

“I hated the ones that came to talk to my father,” he pointed out, the fondness not disappearing from his face. “That doesn't mean I have some grudge against all fashion and want to burn it to the ground—the brand with my father's name, though? I'd _love_ to watch that turn to ash any day, I assure you.”

She grimaced. “Really?”

“Yes, definitely,” he confirmed with a shrug. “He's not a good person and I don't like that he gets to have nice things—sure, he's probably miserable as fuck, but I kind of just want to be spiteful and let him have nothing, you know?”

Marinette couldn't help but say, “I really don't understand your relationship.”

“That's easy,” Adrien responded instantly. “There isn't one. I haven't spoken to him in... well, years.”

It wasn't her place to ask, but she couldn't help but notice how detached he seemed to be when he spoke about his father. “And you're okay with that?”

“Sure,” he easily replied. “It's not like—he was never _there_. I don't actually know him. I was raised by other people, not him, so now there's no reason to—to keep in contact with him.”

She leaned onto him. “Your father sounds terrible.”

“You're not the first to say that, and you probably won't be the last,” he proclaimed.

-x-

When she woke up in his bed alone, the sun not streaming through the curtains, she didn't panic right away. Marinette took in a deep breath as she sat up, staring at the crack in the door that was allowing light to come through.

Would it be the same as before?

She couldn't—she couldn't go out there and see it _again_. She'd been looking outside of windows, checking the see whether she remembered where everything was when she got home, and she was so very sure that a logical explanation wouldn't pop in her mind straight away—it always eluded her.

Her phone said that it was early, around the time that she knew that he got up to prepare for the day before wandering back to bed sometimes, and it caused her stomach to churn uncomfortably.

He had to be there—

And he was.

The hand that she had on the wall had her steady as she stared at him working in his kitchen, not aware of her presence at all. Her heart was hammering awkwardly in her chest, the nerves that had bundled up disappearing at the sight of him, and all she really wanted to do was cry.

Because what had she really been expecting? Adrien couldn't appear out of thin air, and the world wouldn't shift around it. It had never been that way—it never would—but the reminder that she wasn't thinking quite right made her feel nauseated.

But that time she didn't vomit.

Marinette went back to bed before he saw her there.

It didn't make her feel any better, though. Adrien came in and pressed a kiss to her head, making sure the duvet was around her properly, and although she pretended to be asleep, she had to swallow to try and get rid of the sudden tightness in her throat.

It was as though she'd _wanted_ it to happen.

She was on edge for the rest of the day.

She grew frustrated when she went to paint, not having the patience that day to do what she needed to, and tried to calm down and read for the remainder.

Adrien texted her during his break for lunch.

She didn't tell him how she felt.

But he knew her well by that point. They'd been dating for six months, known each other for far longer, and it wasn't as though shed' actively hidden anything from him before—Adrien just hadn't been the kind to push her for answers.

He gently placed a hand on her thigh. “Are you okay?”

“Eh?” she said, voice a bit high-pitched from being startled.

“You're not really watching,” Adrien pointed out, gesturing with a small tilt of his head to the screen that she'd been staring at for the past few minutes, not really taking in what was happening. Of course he'd know—the two of them liked to critique it and have a running commentary between them. “We can do something else, if you want.”

She pushed her fringe off of her forehead. “I—sorry.”

“You don't have to apologise,” he said, a genuine smile on his lips. “It's fine, Marinette.”

She swallowed. “It's just—it's an off-day for me.”

There wasn't anything more that needed to be said. Adrien accepted her answer without any questions, not removing his hand or looking disappointed, and all he did was shift a little to be more comfortable beside her after he'd taken out his phone.

He continued to scroll through it, entertaining himself, while she closed her eyes and leaned back against the sofa, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep.

But she didn't feel comfortable enough to do it there, not that day.

“I'm—I'm going to go home,” she spoke up, gently removing his hand from her thigh to stand up.

Adrien put his phone down beside him in an instant, nodding along to her words. “Okay.”

There wasn't any argument, no questioning of why, but it just made her feel worse at that moment.

He was just—he was so _accommodating_.

Everything was in it's rightful place in her apartment, there was no one else there but her, but as she fell onto her bed and pressed her face into her pillow, she didn't feel happy.

She really didn't want it to be starting again.

She was doing good—great, even. Marinette hadn't been caught off-guard by the shade of his hair for over a _year_ , hadn't thought about impossible things, and she'd steadily become happier with him. Adrien wasn't supposed to be the cause of problems for her—and yet, that morning, everything had seemed sour.

That wasn't something she was supposed to feel about someone she loved.

She didn't need Chloé to talk her into it that time.

Adrien came over after work the following day, visibly curious about what she'd wanted to talk about. As soon as she'd said that she wanted to _talk_ , she'd followed that message up with a few more, making sure that he knew that she hadn't intended it to sound like she wanted to break up.

“So,” Adrien started, taking off his shoes before padding across the room to settle down on the sofa, motioning for her to join him. “What's up, Marinette?”

It wasn't a secret that she was never any good at thinking things through. That fact was confirmed once more when she decided to start their conversation by blurting out, “I didn't like your hair.”

Adrien's brows furrowed as he reached up to touch his hair. “My... hair?”

“Yeah.” Her voice cracked. “I—when we first met, it wasn't exactly the best time to begin with, but your hair scared me.”

His response was probably all he could think of. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Okay, not scared,” Marinette amended, grimacing. “It just—it put me on edge, I guess? That might be a good way to put it. I'm really not good at this whole explaining things.”

Instead of responding to that verbally, Adrien just looked at her, his honest confusion clear on his expression.

“I'm okay with it now,” she said. “Mostly.”

“Are you—” Adrien cut himself off to clear his throat. “Are you asking me to dye my hair?”

The laughter that escaped her wasn't completely from amusement; it was from frustration, too, at just how awkward she was being. “No, I'm not.”

“What is it, then?” his asked softly.

She wetted her lips.

There was every chance to backtrack, to forget that she'd even said anything, and Adrien would've let her do that without any questions. It was one of the reasons that she really liked him—and she hoped that she was as charitable with him in return—but at that moment, she knew it would've been easier if he asked questions.

The only problem was that he wouldn't ask the right ones.

“When I was—” Marinette had to stop for a moment because her voice cracked, ruining the strong and put together act she'd tried to have. “I came home from school when I was thirteen and found someone in my kitchen.”

He just looked more confused. “What?”

Marinette's gaze dropped down to her hands in her lap. “There was—there was a man there, cleaning up blood.”

There was no interruption from him.

“He didn't notice me when I came in.” Her hands felt clammy. “I was... I was just supposed to get my homework, but instead, he—he was there, holding one of our towels to his side and trying to clean up the mess.”

The only sound she could focus on was the thundering of her heart that was echoed in her head.

“I think he got stabbed.” It was almost detached how she was saying it, hollow. “One of our knives went missing afterwards, along with the cloth he used to clean up. I know that much is real, at least.”

But Adrien still wasn't asking questions, trying to get more information from her.

She hated the way that her voice cracked as she said, “I watched him. I was just—I didn't know what to do. My parents weren't home, and Emilie was waiting for me at her house, and all I could do was stand there and—and just watch as he cleaned up.”

It was a story she'd recounted a few times to her parents, to therapists, and Chloé the one time she'd enquired about it, but as much as she tried to think that she was over it, she was only lying to herself.

“It's stupid, but I—he had hair like yours.” The words tasted sour. “I swear, it's okay now, but back then? It always made me panic.”

The only thing he could say to that was, “My hair.”

She didn't know how to reply to that.

“That's why I check my home,” Marinette said, reaching up to roughly run a hand through her hair with more force than necessary. If she'd been alone, she probably would've tugged at the strands. “It didn't even happen here but—but it makes me feel safer.”

She could hear him take in a sharp breath. “What happened?”

There was many ways that she could answer that, so many, but Adrien had always been honest with her in the past. He'd stuck with her for so long, and she didn't see why her confession would be a breaking point for them.

“He disappeared,” she replied quietly, bringing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them, staring down at the fabric on her legs rather than at him. “I'm—I was so convinced that it had happened, but he just—he _disappeared_.”

He didn't say anything to that, didn't even move.

“I've... I've been told that it was just my imagination, but it felt real.” It felt heavy to say that, something she still couldn't quite believe. “The blood, the knife... _everything_ , but when Emilie came over to find out why I was screaming, there wasn't any evidence of it happening at all.”

There was silence between them.

It felt stifling, uncomfortable, and it didn't help that she couldn't stop herself from overthinking it; trying to imagine his expression at that moment. Would he be staring at her negatively? Alya hadn't brought up the rumours, but she was _admitting_ them to him, telling him the reason she'd distanced herself from others—

“It wasn't the first time.” Her voice sounded weak, even to herself. Marinette ran her hands through her hair, gripping at the roots as she pressed her forehead against her knees, eyes squeezed shut. “About—about seeing things that weren't really there, I mean. I didn't... I didn't see you in the kitchen the other morning when I freaked out.”

She swallowed thickly.

“It was always glimpses of someone that wasn't quite there, you know?” It was hard to phrase it that way, so casually and detached. “My parents thought I had an imaginary friend that I kept seeing; just flashes and noises that no one else turned fast enough to see.”

It made her shiver.

“I hadn't seen anything in so long until in your kitchen. I almost thought I was over it.” Her grip tightened. “It just—it makes me feel like I'm losing it, it really does.”

Of all the things she expected him to do—from being aghast to even comforting her—the outcome that she didn't predict was the sound of him vomiting.

Marinette was startled, jumping, her head snapping up with wide eyes as she saw him hunched over, one arm clutching his stomach as he heaved, face hidden as he continued to stare down at the sudden liquid that was on her floor.

He gagged.

Cautiously, she reached out to touch his back as she called, “Adrien?”

He flinched away from her.

It—it shouldn't have happened like _that_.

The regret was instantaneous. Had she been too presumptuous in thinking that he'd accept her for saying that? Adrien had always been so accepting and supportive, but it wasn't as though she was just admitting that she had nightmares.

“Marinette, I—” Adrien started before he cut himself off to cough, the sound almost pitiful.

He didn't finish his sentence.

Adrien was pale, surely looking as bad as she felt, and he stood up on shaky feet, hand touching the wall to support himself as he tried to leave as swiftly as possible, not even looking in her direction as he left.

And as she watched the door close with tears blurring her vision, she realised that he hadn't even taken his shoes.

She took in a heaving breath.

-x-

There was a difference between being ignored based on rumours when she was a teenager and her boyfriend avoiding her after she'd confessed her problems to him.

Adrien had been the one to walk away.

Marinette had chosen to give him some time, to see whether he needed to calm down before talking to her again, but the days of silence from him weren't very reassuring. She chose to keep what had happened to herself, not telling Chloé about it, only succumbing to tears again when she was kneeling on her floor, trying to get his vomit out of the carpet.

She wasn't doing so good at that.

The first way she tried to reach out to him was through text.

He didn't open it.

It spoke volumes.

The sudden avoidance hurt more than her feelings. She found herself distracted a lot, even when trying to focus on different things to keep her mind off of him, and when she had to walk outside to go to the nearby shop, she'd stared at the little window beside his front door for more than a few minutes.

She wasn't going to use the key he'd given her.

Maybe, just maybe, he needed a bit more time to come to terms with it. He'd clearly reacted strongly to what she said—for what reason, she didn't _know—_ but him pushing her away wasn't something he'd really done before.

Then again, she'd barely seen him upset. He'd been pissed off at his father, sure, or had a few smiles with lingering sadness when he spoke about his dead mother, but Adrien didn't give in to his negative emotions often. When he was stressed or upset from work, he'd preferred to just scroll on his phone, keeping the conversation to a minimum.

But he'd never walked away from her to have time alone; he'd said that her being beside him hadn't made him feel any worse, and the sight of her smile had always cheered him up.

Not at that moment, apparently.

It took him a week to come to her.

When Marinette cracked open her door, just to see him standing there, staring down at his feet.

Her stomach uncomfortably.

“Adrien,” she greeted, voice wobbling.

He cleared his throat. “Can I come in?”

There wasn't much to think about. He'd hurt her by walking away, yes, but she wasn't just going to shut him out and not listen to him, no matter how much budding irritation she felt. She clumsily opened the door to invite him inside, awkwardly standing in the hallway with her arms crossed as he entered.

She didn't miss how he gazed at his shoes that she'd pushed aside.

Neither of them started talking immediately. There was an obvious tension between the two of them, no affection touches or words as they usually would after not seeing each other for a while (which usually meant a day or two at most), and her movements felt stiff as she chose to sit on the opposite end of the sofa rather than beside him, as far away as she could.

She hated that she noticed the dark circles under his eyes immediately.

“I need to tell you something.”

A disbelieving noise left her. “Right.”

“It's—” Adrien cut himself off, running a hand roughly through his hair. And from how it stuck it, it was clear that he hadn't showered that day. “It's something I haven't told anyone else.”

She nervously clasped her hands on her lap.

“But I think... I know you'll believe me,” he said, still not looking up to meet her gaze. There was something vulnerable about him; the hunched shoulders, the avoidance of his eyes, his body language in general. “I just hope you'll—you'll let me explain, please.”

Her throat felt tight as she swallowed. “I'm not going to run away.”

It was unsaid that it was a jab at him.

“I need you to come over to mine for this,” Adrien stated quietly, finally looking up and meeting her gaze. “I can't do this here, I really can't.”

There was silence for a moment before she broke it was a soft, “Okay.”

He didn't take the shoes he'd left behind the previous week. Adrien slipped on the ones he'd came over with, holding the door open for her to follow after him, the kind act only making her odd mixture of emotions even worse. Even when they were fighting—for it couldn't really be classed as anything else at that moment—he was still looking out for her.

His apartment was messy.

Adrien didn't seem too bothered by it, though. He pushed aside a few things that were in their way, taking them to their familiar position of his sofa where Marinette purposely sat as far away from him as she could again.

Her fingers curled around the bottom of her shorts, nails going into the material. “Talk.”

“It's more of a show thing,” he replied weakly. “I just need you to know, you're not—you're not imagining it, okay? It's reality.”

That _hurt_. “Excuse me?”

“Not like that!” Adrien quickly defended himself, shaking his head. “I'm not trying to be a dick, I promise. It's not something that can really be explained—you won't _believe_ me.”

But instead of sympathising with him there—because how could she when she had no idea what he was going on about, especially not when she was a bundle of negative emotions—all she could feel was irritation from his remark. She hadn't opened up to him and revealed the worst parts of herself so he could freely quote at her when he wanted to.

He hadn't earned the right.

“I didn't—you can't say _that_ ,” Marinette retorted, bitter. “That's not something you can fucking throw in my face, Adrien.”

“That's not what I meant,” he whispered. “Marinette, please.”

She just didn't know how to feel.

“Do you remember in my kitchen?” he questioned, barely above the previous whisper. “You weren't imagining it. I wasn't there, not at first.”

Her body felt stiff as she awkwardly shifted, turning to face him with the blankest expression that she could muster. She didn't want to show the hurt that she was feeling, nor the irritation from how he'd treated her.

She doubted he could talk himself out of it.

His voice cracked as he said, “You're not seeing things.”

She flatly replied, “You don't know anything.”

“Marinette, please,” he repeated, almost begging. “You have to hear me out, okay? I—it was never my intention for this to happen, I swear. I never— _never—_ wanted to hurt anyone this way, let alone you. I didn't—please, I love you.”

The babbling didn't make sense, not in the context that she was given. Marinette felt defensive, as though she needed to correct him and bat away his attempts at making her believe that she hadn't needed therapy all those years, that she didn't need to see specialists because of things that no one else had seen—

The best way to describe her was hollow as she demanded, “Explain.”

He looked to be on the verge of tears, blinking rapidly as he averted his gaze to stare down at his lap instead of her. “Your neighbour. Emilie, right?”

Stiffly, she confirmed, “Yes.”

Adrien closed his eyes. “Did she... did she ever tell you about her ex-husband?”

“What?” Marinette questioned, louder than intended. “I—what?”

“I know her,” he said, inhaling sharply afterwards as he paused, running a hand through his hair. “No, I—I don't know her, that's the thing. I know _of_ her, but only recently. Well, not really recent? Before I met you, at least. That recent.”

The rambling, the way he kept correcting himself, and his body language made her wonder which one of them was really the one on edge. Marinette had been defensive and offended, but Adrien's emotions were becoming glaringly obvious in the past few minutes to the point that she noticed that his hands were shaking as they fell back down to his lap.

She didn't reach out to him.

“She's my mother,” he stated, a whispered confession. “Was.”

She just—she didn't _understand_. Emilie had practically raised her alongside her parents for years, helped her with homework and joined them for holidays, but there had been no mention of any husband, let alone a son.

For Adrien to claim such a thing seemed so—it was so disrespectful to her character.

There wasn't any guilt to be felt as she demanded, “Prove it.”

“There's a—” Adrien cut himself off, taking in a deep breath before he took out his phone from his pocket.

A few tense minutes passed as he searched through the device for what he wanted while she sat there, hands curling around her shorts and nails digging into the material once more, unsure on what to feel.

And when he turned the phone around for her to see the screen, there was no denying what she was seeing.

“That could be anyone,” Marinette stated.

It was her in a hospital bed, holding a newly born child.

He tried to stop the welling tears. “Why would I lie about this?”

There was a terrible feeling stirring in her from seeing how vulnerable he was from her words.

“Fine,” she agreed quietly. “Let's say that's you, then. What does it have to do with this?”

He shakily locked his phone and put it on the coffee table in front of them, carefully avoiding her gaze once more. “There's a reason she left my father,” he quietly explained, using his palm to swipe at one of his eyes, trying to collect himself. “Hell, it's the reason I left, too. I completely understand.”

“Because he's an absentee father?” she questioned.

“Kind of.” He shrugged. “It's more... a matter of morals, I guess. He's not a good person and she didn't deserve to deal with him, I get it, really, I do. But she signed away any rights to see me.”

Her stomach churned uncomfortably as she remembered him saying that he thought his mother was dead for years. “I don't understand what this has to do with—with _anything_.”

“I'm going to show you,” Adrien said, lifting up his head to look at her. Even from the short distance between them, as far away she could be on the sofa, she could see the wetness on his eyelashes. “I will, I swear. I-I just need to work up the courage, that's all.”

She frowned.

And as he wrapped his arms around himself, visibly self-conscious and not at all confident, not the Adrien that she'd come to know, she could actually see it when he swallowed nervously.

“The kitchen,” he said, bringing back the old subject. “You said I wasn't there, right?”

She clenched her hands. “No, I—”

“Marinette,” he called her name softly, the sheer amount of emotional weight that he was able to portray in one word making her throat tighten. “I wasn't there.”

There wasn't much conviction in her voice as she rebutted, “Yes, you were.”

“I wasn't,” Adrien confessed, having finally gathered the courage to look her in the eyes. “But when I came back, I lied to you. I... I saw you freaking out and I lied right to your face, and it was fucking awful.”

Her breath hitched. “No, you were there.”

“No,” he insisted. “I'm not—I'm not like you, okay? I get this weird feeling—it's like an itch, I think? And I have to do something to get rid of it, but I—” Adrien paused, taking in a loud breath. “I thought it would only ever be harmless. I never— _never—_ wanted to change anything for anyone else.”

And at that moment, all she could really think was that maybe it wasn't just her that had some sort of problem.

Had her confession triggered something with him? It would be an adequate explanation why he'd ended up vomiting on her carpet, clearly too upset to have a conversation with it, and why he'd avoided her afterwards. She supposed that if someone told her about their problems and they were somehow similar to her own, she would've possibly reacted in the same way—she certainly would've have told them about hers immediately.

Still, it was Adrien. The friend that she didn't know she needed, the man that she'd steadily fallen in love with after their rocky start—the one that had always been there for her.

He deserved the benefit of the doubt.

Any irritation she was feeling bled away as her shoulders sagged. “What are you trying to say?”

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

And to her horror, the tears that followed were definitely not what he expected. Adrien put his head in his hands, either overwhelmed or trying to hide what was happening, but the shaky breaths and noises were unmistakable.

She didn't know whether to reach out to him or not.

Marinette settled with moving closer, coming to sit beside him so their knees were touching. “Adrien?” she called softly.

He just kept repeating the same phrase, the words starting to get unrecognisable as his sobs increased.

She really didn't know what to do.

Adrien wasn't leaning into her or looking for comfort, definitely not, but just sitting there and watching him cry wasn't comfortable for either of them. Gently, she stood up and tried not to disturb him too much, padding across to the bathroom to grab the roll of toilet roll.

“Here,” she said, tentatively reaching out to take one of his hands away from his face, putting a bundled up tissue in it.

It took a while for him to calm down. Adrien stopped talking, choosing to blow his nose and harshly wipe his eyes, causing the redness to increase. The colour contrasted greatly to the paleness of his skin, the bruise-like shadows that were under his eyes that showed his lack of sleep, and his lank hair was looking more unflattering than ever.

It made her chest hurt.

And it was all made even worse that his first words he croaked after that extended silence was, “I'm so sorry.”

She exhaled audibly. “Don't say that.”

“It wasn't—I _never_ —” Adrien tried to say, only for him to hiccup and interrupt himself. Frustrated, he ran a hand over his face, causing his remaining tears to be visible on the top of his cheek. “I can fix it. I can try to.”

It sounded like nonsense.

There was no denying that he was going through something, and the fact that he was sitting there in front of her, no longer running away and avoiding her, said a lot. It was because of that that she reached out and gently clasped one of his hands with hers, pushing aside a used tissue in the process, and softly replied, “You don't have to apologise.”

That just made his expression crumble. “You don't understand.”

“Then, help me,” she coaxed. “Talk me through it.”

Adrien exhaled loudly. “I can time-travel.”

All she could do was stare at him in confusion. “I—what?” she stuttered out, having not expected that to be his answer at all.

“I can... travel through time?” It came out sounding like a question because of the lilt of his voice at the end. Adrien was meeting her gaze, not shying away and avoiding her like earlier, and she could clearly see how stressed he looked.

Maybe it wasn't just her that suffered from delusions.

Marinette swallowed thickly.

“Okay,” she whispered, squeezing his hand in what she hoped to be an act of support. “Thank you for telling me.”

With a frustrated noise, he took his hand away from hers, almost violently shaking his head. “No, I—I'm _serious_ , Marinette. I'm not joking.”

But she'd always been serious, too. It was clear that something wasn't quite, she could acknowledge that, but everyone she'd spoken to about it—barring Chloé—had tried to convince her to see the logic behind what she'd seen, to try and imagine it from someone else's perspective, and come to terms with it being a hallucination.

Maybe Adrien wasn't quite there.

“Okay,” she repeated softly, putting her hands back in her lap, not at all offended by his actions.

His expression crumpled as he roughly ran a hand over his face, as though he was trying to wake himself up.

“Please.” His voice was ragged. “Please, Marinette. I need you to keep an open mind for this.”

But she'd already been open-minded about his relation to Emilie, something that had seemed unfathomable to her at first. Sure, it still baffled her that someone so close to her family had kept such a secret, but he wasn't the type to _lie_ to her.

The thought that she'd spent more time with his mother than he had was one that had her close to tears.

She didn't look away from him as she said, “I'm listening.”

“I can either show you or—” Adrien paused, pushing his hair away from his face roughly. “I don't know. I think that's the only choice to make you believe that I'm not—I'm not imagining all of _this_.”

And what was she supposed to say to that? After a moment of deliberation, wondering whether she should really encourage him or not, she settled with repeating herself with, “Okay.”

It just caused him to look even more frustrated. “I'm serious.”

Her throat felt dry. “And I'm waiting.”

“I—okay,” Adrien stuttered out, frazzled. “I guess I'll... I'll do something quick, like changing something in the room. That shouldn't be too scary, right?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “...If you think that's best.”

“Maybe.” He sighed. “I don't know.”

“It's up to you,” she reminded him.

He shook his head. “I don't want a repeat of last time.”

Hesitantly, Marinette questioned, “The kitchen?”

“Yes.” His voice was but a whisper. “I don't want to see you like that because of me, not again.”

There wasn't any reason to believe him. It just—it wasn't _possible_ , but he seemed to sure and convinced of what he was saying, absolutely stressed out about the thought of causing her to have a panic attack because of his actions. But it wasn't him that had caused it, not at all—no matter how much he believed otherwise.

It wouldn't matter, but she tried to reassure him with, “I'll try my best to be calm.”

The laugh that left him was humourless. “I'm sure that'll work really well, yes.”

It was clear that he was stalling.

They'd been together for over six months but he'd never given indication to believing he had some sort of power that was beyond what everyone else could do. Adrien had seemed so—so pleasantly normal and his presence had been comforting to her, making her feel relaxed and happy when they were beside each other.

She'd never wished delusions on anyone else before, and she wasn't about to start.

“So, you can time-travel.” She didn't phrase it like a question. “That means you can change something in the past, yes?”

He straightened his posture and looked her in the eye. “Yes.”

It really didn't seem like he thought he was lying.

Adrien wasn't the type to extend a joke for that long, nor would he play on her emotions intentionally. He never would've made a long prank from her admitting that she had hallucinations and couldn't quite see things clearly sometimes, and he definitely wouldn't have ignored her for no good reason.

She'd been the only one to shut him out, after all.

But she could only remember the way he couldn't look her in the eye for a while after her panic attack in his living room, barely a few metres away from where they were sat.

“Put something on the table in front of us, then,” she proposed. “Theoretically, it should make it appear, yes?”

For a moment, all he did was stare at her, as though he was expecting her to add something on the end of what she'd said.

Then, he wetted his lips before quietly asking, “Are you sure?”

Her hands felt clammy. “Positive.”

But that didn't seem good enough for him. “Are you _sure_?”

“Yes,” Marinette said, looking at him intently.

“I'm going to lock the door,” he stated, not looking away from her. “Are you—are you okay with that?”

Her eyes flickered to the extra security that he'd bought with the sole intention to be to make her feel comfortable—for him to ask her that, something he'd never had to question before, had her wondering how their relationship had really taken such a hit that it needed to be asked.

She swallowed. “It's fine.”

His steps were slow as he approached the front door, trying to make as little noise as possible as he locked it.

“There,” he announced. “Now I can't get out here, right?”

“...Right.”

Adrien turned around to face her direction, but he didn't look her in the eyes as hand went to touch the nape of his neck. “I love you, Marinette,” he choked out, sounding close to tears once more. “I really want you to know that.”

There wasn't any time to reply to that.

Nothing could've really prepared her for him disappearing into thin air. There was no warning, no burst or sound or light—nothing at all—and her heart started beating rapidly, throat tightening in an instinctive response to the unknown.

The seat was still warm where he'd been sitting only minutes ago.

Her stomach heaved, attempting to expel the pitiful contents of it, but she sucked in a harsh breath, squeezing her eyes shut as she reached up to tug at the roots of her air, trying to convince herself that it was real.

But he—

It couldn't be _real_.

And yet, Adrien had disappeared in an instant, his body not even flickering before it had ceased to exist in front of her.

Her voice cracked as she called out, “Adrien?”

It was ridiculous to expect an answer, she knew that, but the silence that greeted her only made her feel worse. Her breathing was starting to increase, the pace not healthy or good for her mental state at that moment, but she couldn't cease the panicking. It was worse than when she'd seen flickers before, so much worse than when she'd thought that she'd just imagined that he hadn't been there in his kitchen before—

Because she trusted him so. And for her to be confronted with such an impossible feat, something that no specialist would ever be able to explain away logically to her, made her eyes prickle with unshed tears.

She was panicking, she realised.

All she could hear was the pounding of her heart.

It was a blank for her for a bit.

Her arms felt heavy from where they were held up to grip her hair, scalp tender, and she swallowed to try and cure her dry throat as she started to become coherent again. The breaths were almost painful to have, but she was more focused on calming down than thinking about what had happened.

And to her horror, she was still alone when she opened her eyes.

With shaky knees, Marinette stood up, supporting herself with a hand on the wall as she staggered and checked the rooms, calling out his name from her search.

And just as the last time she'd panicked in his apartment, the locks on his door weren't undone.

He hadn't left through the front door.

It just—it wasn't _possible_.

There wasn't a logical explanation that she could grasp onto.

Marinette placed a hand over her fast-beating heart, leaning up against the wall as she stared at the spot where he'd been standing, perhaps a little too wide-eyed as she waited for anything to happen.

It seemed like hours before anything happened, but then it all appeared at once.

She jerked back in surprise when she was able to see him again.

Adrien was almost in the same spot that he'd disappeared, maybe a step to the side. The same clothing, the greasy hair, and his complexion didn't look any more unflattering than it had all that time ago.

How long had it even _been_?

She was trying not to panic again, but tears were welling up in her eyes—whether it was from denial or frustration, she really didn't know, but it was better than losing time due to stress, she could agree to that.

And as Adrien turned his head to look at her, the stricken expression able to be made out through her watery eyes, she hastily raised a hand to wipe her eyes with her palm, purposely taking in some deep breaths.

“Marinette,” he started softly, but his voice cracked terribly. “Marinette, I—”

But did it really prove _anything_? For all she knew, it could've just been a convenient episode for her—

It didn't matter that there was now a mug on the coffee table that hadn't been there before.

He could've just put it there.

And when she voiced those thoughts, his expression looked even more defeated than before. “Really?” he questioned, exasperated. “I—you're not going to believe me after this?”

Her heart was hammering in her chest. “It doesn't really prove anything when it's the same as what's happened to me before.”

“That's the _point_!” Adrien stressed, taking a few steps towards her.

The best word to describe how he looked at that moment was crazed—from the hair that was sticking up unattractively, the pallor of his skin, and wide-eyed look that he was giving her, all of it didn't add up well.

She swallowed.

“You're not going to believe me, are you?” he whispered, coming to stand so their feet were almost touching. “Why would I joke about this, Marinette?”

She didn't look him in the eye. “Why wouldn't you?”

“Because I don't want to hurt you,” was his reply. “But I—it's already happened without me realising it.”

It was another response that didn't quite make sense to her. It was already bad enough to come to terms with him trying to fucking convince her that he was a time-traveller, but to see him so very insistent that he was right made her heart hurt.

Was that how she looked?

“In the kitchen, before,” he started, staring down at her with a determined expression. “I went back to bake because I overslept in bed with you. You came out while I was gone.”

“You were there,” she insisted.

He shook his head. “I came back while you were on the floor, remember? And then, the kitchen wasn't as empty as before, right?”

“But that's impossible,” Marinette weakly replied.

“Marinette,” he slowly said, reaching out as though he was going to take her hand into his before he thought better of it, letting it fall back down to his side again. “I disappeared in front of your eyes, didn't I? And then reappeared, yes? There's no logical explanation for that.”

Her throat felt tight. “My medication could not be working properly.”

“That's not—you know that's not what this is!” Adrien exclaimed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Please, _you_ —”

Then, he cut himself off to stare at her, wide-eyed.

His lips parted, not sound coming out for a while until he licked them and finally asked, “Do you think I'm mad?”

Her tactical answer was, “As mad as I am.”

And for a few moments, his expression was unrecognisable before it settled down to be almost defeated with a sigh escaping him. “Your home,” he started, not looking her in the eyes. “The one where you lived beside my mother? That went on sale again two years ago, didn't it?”

Her brow furrowed. “We moved out before that.”

“The new owners sold it, then,” he readily said. “But my point remains—the two of them were for sale at the same time when my—after Emilie had died.”

But it didn't mean anything to her, not really. “And why does that even matter?”

“Because when I time-travel, I appear in the same spot,” he insisted, finally looking her in the eyes again, his hands moving to emphasise his words as he spoke. “They changed the kitchen.”

She squinted. “Excuse me?”

“They changed the layout of the house, which meant the kitchen wasn't the same,” he simply said. “So, when I travelled, I ended up hurting myself on your counter. The one where you put your washing up, I think.”

It didn't mean she believed him, not at all. There was just—there was no reason to. It made no logical sense, she had no way to back up what he was saying, and she'd never looked back on her childhood home to see what the new owners had done to it, let alone checked whether it had gone on sale again or not.

Emilie had always chose to visit them after they'd moved.

She cleared her throat. “I don't understand what you're trying to say.”

“Marinette,” he whispered, stricken. “There was a knife.”

He was trying so hard.

Instead of waiting for a reply, Adrien reached down to grasp onto the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up so his abdomen was visible to see. Her confusion must've been visible on her face as he tried to give her what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, but it came across as a grimace.

“What?” she asked when she realised that he was waiting for her to say something.

He tapped the scar that she'd seen countless times on his side.

“It's a scar,” Marinette said, baffled. “What are you—”

“The knife on your side hurt me here,” he explained, voice but a whisper. She could see that the hand holding up his shirt was shaking. “I panicked and tried to clean it up before anyone got there.”

It—it made her feel sick.

There was so much conviction in his voice, utter certainty that it had really happened, and all she could think was that he was using the information that she'd given him against her—somehow trying to weave their stories together. The chance that she'd known his mother for most of her life had been a fluke as it was, something hard to believe in the beginning, but for him to try and insist that they were more involved than that had her stomach churning uncomfortably.

“You said—” Adrien breathed out audibly. “You said you walked in on someone in your kitchen. Someone with blond hair.”

She couldn't answer from fear of vomiting.

“Me,” he whispered, gesturing towards his scar. “I took—I took your knife, the one with the blue handle, I think? I threw it away as soon as I got back.”

Her vision was becoming blurry again.

“The cloth, too,” Adrien added on.

Weakly, she insisted, “I told you all of that.”

He made a frustrated noise. “I think I saw you, once before,” he announced, letting his shirt fall down to cover his body once more. “I ended up knocking into a bin when I travelled—pretty sure I screamed and you looked out of your window at me.”

She held her breath.

“I... panicked and disappeared, didn't I?”

“That wasn't you.” Her voice was quiet. “That wasn't real.”

He looked into her eyes as he said, “I knocked over the bin.”

“That was the wind,” she lamely explained.

It made her feel sick, absolutely. For him to try and say that he was the one that she'd seen all that time ago—to insist that he'd been responsible—made her feel nauseated beyond belief. The different emotions that were swirling within her chest weren't making it any better either.

How was she supposed to believe him at all?

“Stop,” Marinette weakly requested.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, stricken. “I'm so fucking sorry, Marinette. I never—I didn't know it was _you_. I never thought anything of it.”

Her heart was beating fast.

“What can I do for you to believe me?” he begged.

There he was, staring at her imploringly and downright begging her to believe that it was all his fault. It was just—as much as she'd wished and wanted for someone else to take responsibility before, it was too much to take it.

Her arm felt heavy and she lifted it up to clasp his wrist in her hand.

“Go back,” she said thickly. “While I'm holding onto you, go back.”

Because he—he couldn't really do it if she was holding onto him, right? She was able to feel him, the warmth and softness of his skin, and that was something that couldn't be explained away, was it? There wouldn't be a lapse in her judgement if he really did disappear from under her fingertips—

She felt dizzy.

And in a blink of an eye, her hand wasn't holding onto anything.

She threw up in his sink.

-x-

It might've been easier if she thought he was delusional.

That would've been so much better than trying to come to terms with him being the one that had ruined her life. Was that the right way to phrase it?

She would've been happier if she didn't know.

Adrien was— _no_.

Adrien had been the one to make her happy for so long, so to learn that he was the one that had caused her to—to be how she was was terrifying. And to know that if she'd never opened up to him about her past, he never would've told her about any of it, would he?

He'd avoided looking into her eyes for a while after the kitchen incident, but then they'd gone back to normal.

There wasn't really a normal any more.

Did that mean that she wasn't—wasn't what she'd been prescribed at? Marinette had seen a man that hadn't really been there, that's what she'd been told, but for it to be him?

She'd thrown up more times than she could count.

It made no fucking sense, but she'd seen and even _felt_ the proof that he wasn't lying. There was—there was so much that she wanted to know, to ask him, but the thought of even looking him in the eye had her feeling nauseated.

She barely did anything for a few days, staying locked inside and refusing to come out, not even looking at her phone.

All those times she'd checked her home, trying to see whether she was really alone, what she'd really been looking for was—

It was the worst thing she could've ever learned.

It wasn't a comfort, it wasn't the answer that she'd always wanted, something telling her that she wasn't actually hallucinating. To learn that time-travel existed, to know that her boyfriend had been using it and unintentionally ruining her life as a result, was fucking horrific.

Her hands were too shaky to do any work.

It was a relapse into her not being able to care for herself, and she was unsure whether it was as bad as the time she'd been too panicked to even handle going to school—when she'd had to take time off to recover.

There wasn't anyone there to take care of her. No one to make sure she eat, didn't stay up to ridiculous hours by staring into space, or sobbing into her hands with no one to talk her through what she was feeling.

Because who would even believe her?

It wasn't her parents that she reached out to first.

When Chloé turned up at her apartment, the greeting Marinette received was, “You look like shit.”

Even her laughter was weak.

Chloé let her move into her spare bedroom. The desk with her work supplies on it was neglected, her income looking pitiful as it was just from the t-shirts that were sold, and she barely left Chloé's home for a few weeks. And while Chloé worked, disappearing for odd hours or putting her make-up on for a impromptu photoshoot and demanding Marinette tell her how she looked before she left, Marinette kept to herself, mostly blankly staring at the television while she was alone.

She lied to her parents and said that she was okay.

The messages from Nino and Alya were left unread.

And when it came time for her birthday, she only ate a small piece of the cake that Chloé had baked for the two of them. It tasted as terrible as it looked, but she still sobbed while chewing a mouthful.

It was an understatement to say that Chloé was baffled by the sudden turn, but she didn't push for any answers. Marinette was always grateful for that; without Chloé, she would've been starving away in her apartment, refusing to go outside or even talk to anyone.

It wasn't missed to her that Adrien's name was never brought.

And the thought that Chloé believed that all of what had happened was because of a terrible breakup had her laughing hysterically until the tears came.

She stopped taking her medication.

Adrien wasn't there, was he? He wasn't going to disappear from the corner of her eyes any more—

It kept her up at night.

The revelation didn't really change anything for her actions, not really. There was still the fact that she'd been a terrified child and imagined him in the shadows, cried when no one had believed her, and had since been terrified at the mere thought of him enough that it had carried on into her adult life.

Even while she was staying at Chloé's, it made her feel better to check the rooms first. While it was true that she wasn't taking her medication any more, she had to wonder whether that was for the best for not.

Sure, it had taken years to get the right prescription, but it had helped, hadn't it? And for her to just push it away because there was an explanation of what had happened—

It wouldn't heal the damage.

She started taking them again in September. It was a familiar action, something she'd done for years, and she was determined to try and return back to normal to the best of her ability.

She talked her plan for her life with Chloé. The t-shirts were continuing to sell, and with Chloé's suggestion that she move in permanently with her, she decided to throw herself into designing clothing instead.

After refunding the money to those that had been waiting for her to finish their doll commissions, she closed down that section of her store. The pictures were still available to be seen on her social media account—what it was mostly used for—but she made it clear that she wouldn't be doing it any more.

And when she went to collect her belongings from her old apartment, she refused to look at her neighbour's door after she'd slipped the key he'd given her through the letterbox.

Chloé's next proposition wasn't one that she liked the idea of much.

“Be my stylist, then,” Chloé proposed casually, as though they were talking about the weather. “Dress me all pretty and stuff. You're good at that, aren't you?”

She squinted at her. “Are you serious?”

“Looking good is literally my job,” Chloé pointed out. “Besides, if you make me one-of-a-kind outfits, it'll put your name out there alongside mine. Win-win, right?”

“You already have a stylist.”

Chloé waved a hand dismissively. “But that's only for photoshoots. I need one for all the time, right? That's where you come in. It can be your job.”

Marinette quietly replied, “You're already paying more than half of the rent.”

“Yeah, so what?” was the answer to that. “I'm richer than you, you just have to deal with it. Now, peasant, I want a nice blouse—”

There wasn't really much room to argue with her. When Chloé had started modelling, she really hadn't expected it to turn out how it had. Chloé's large following online was always quite intimidating, but it wasn't as though she was a top-tier celebrity that everyone recognised; she had a few advertisements in magazines, but never one that had gone throughout the city for everyone to see her face on.

It was less stressful than working in a coffee-shop, that was for sure.

She put in the weight she'd lost from before she moved in with Chloé by November, but along with that month came another event that made her shoulders stiffen.

“I'm going out tonight,” Chloé said, draping herself across Marinette's bed. It was some hours before she was set to go, the usual time that she gave Marinette to pick out her outfit. “I want to look like I can absolutely kick someone's ass, okay? Because I might have to.”

Marinette's laughter was loud. “You?”

“Absolutely me.” Chloé sniffed. “I might have to smack a bitch, I don't know what'll happen. I have to be prepared, right?”

With fondness clear in her voice, she asked, “Where are you even going?”

Chloé hesitated a little before she replied, “Out to dinner for someone's birthday.”

“Oh, have fun,” Marinette said in return, not really thinking much of it. “Is it even someone that you _like_?”

“I mean, it's a bit all over the place lately,” Chloé answered. “That's why I might end up hitting him. But it would be totally understandable so the police won't be called, don't worry.”

She snorted. “I don't think you'll get another job if you get arrested for assault.”

“ _Deserved_ assault,” Chloé corrected. “It's just another name for karma.”

She laughed. “Yes, I'm sure.”

It didn't occur to her until she she alone, slowly eating dinner at the dining table—something Marinette hadn't had at her own apartment—that there was a significance to the date.

She was still awake when Chloé came through the front door.

“Hey,” she greeted, raising a hand to wave at her. “Did you have fun?”

It was clear that Chloé had had a little to drink, but that had been the plan with her getting a lift there. And as Chloé sauntered across the room to sit beside her, a wide grin on her lips, she supposed that it couldn't have been too bad.

She didn't bring it up until the next day.

Marinette tried to casually ask, “Did Adrien look okay?”

The choking noise Chloé made definitely wasn't what she wanted to hear. “Adrien?” she questioned, voice high-pitched. “Who—I don't know anyone called that, sorry.”

It was a little sweet, but Marinette had said in passing that Chloé didn't have to stop being friends with him. Still, Chloé had neglected to mention him in conversations, skirting around the subject, and Marinette hadn't pushed her to change any of that. It wasn't her decision on how Chloé wanted to live her life or who she wanted to be friends with.

Just because it didn't end well with Adrien didn't mean that Chloé had to part ways with her childhood friend that she'd only just reconnected with.

She just really didn't want to hear about it.

“It was his birthday, wasn't it?” she questioned, though there really wasn't a need for that. She was sure that if she checked social media, she'd see pictures of them together. “I don't mind, you know that. I'm just—I wanted to know if he's okay.”

Chloé visibly hesitated before she asked, “Are you sure you want to know?”

She thought about that. “I'm not really sure.”

“Get back to me when you're sure, then,” Chloé proposed. “But for what it's worth, he asked about you, too.”

That really wasn't what she wanted to hear.

-x-

It turned out with the extra attention that she got from being connected to Chloé—who got a chance to be featured as a model for a famous designer—meant that her bank account wasn't suffering as much as it had when she'd first moved in. She'd steadily added new items to her store, happy with the positive responses that she got, and it helped that any time Chloé took a picture in an outfit that Marinette picked out for her, her account was tagged in the photo.

It really helped with becoming known.

She still got messages about the dolls, but she didn't want to go back to that, not really. It had been a stepping stone of sorts, one that she'd stuck to for years, but ever since she'd gotten the chance to pick out outfits for Chloé and design her own, it just didn't retain its old charm.

Acknowledging that she was messed up because of a time-traveller didn't make everything better. Marinette still needed her medication, ad panic attacks at times, and she was wary of blond hair whenever she turned a corner when she wasn't really paying attention, but it wasn't as though she'd expected everything to be instantly better.

It was just a little bit of closure that she wouldn't have otherwise gotten. There would never be a chance to tell anyone about it, not even a therapist, and she'd accepted that.

Adrien had told her his greatest secret because he felt guilty.

And he should've, absolutely. It made sense why his reaction to her confession had been to throw up and avoid her before turning up unkempt and clearly unhealthy some time later.

It didn't fix anything and it never would.

They'd been happy together, though. When Marinette thought about him, the happy times that she'd had with him were tainted from the conclusion of their relationship, but, maybe, it wouldn't be like that in the future. For all the wrong he'd accidentally done to her—in the _past—_ he'd treated her, cherished her, and loved her like no one else had before.

It didn't make up for anything.

Adrien had said that it was an accident, that he'd never intended it to happen, but the fact was that it had. And because of his carelessness, because he'd only wanted to get a glimpse of his mother, he'd unintentionally scarred a little girl into thinking that she was hallucinating.

And to everyone other than the two of them, she was still that.

With all the questions that she wanted to ask him, the clarifications to see whether he was really there or she'd imagined him from fear a few times, she knew that she wouldn't be getting the chance any time soon.

She still had pictures of him on her phone, but she didn't look at them.

She awkwardly told her parents that they'd broken up while on the phone to them, but from the lack of her mentioning him, they'd already guessed that. The only appropriate response that she could think of was to laugh weakly, apologising for not bringing it up any sooner.

They were as supportive as ever.

The last time she'd gone to theirs for the holiday, it was when she'd planned to go on her first date with Adrien when she got back. But that didn't make her too sad; Marinette stayed as cheerful as she could during the duration of her stay, answering the questions of their other family members whenever they asked what she was doing with her life. It wasn't every year that she saw them, so it wasn't a completely awful experience.

She even dropped in to spend some time with Chloé's parents despite Chloé herself not actually being there.

When she made it back to the home she shared with Chloé, she'd made up her mind for her want for answers.

She hadn't responded to Adrien's texts for five months, and he hadn't messaged her for three.

But when she asked to meet up, he responded within minutes.

She didn't know whether to feel guilty or not.

As she didn't want to go to his apartment and didn't want him at hers and Chloé's, she settled with naming a diner that was between them so they could go under the premise of having lunch. She doubted that she'd be able to eat much, but it was better than awkwardly sitting in a café where it was either cramped or they'd have to be loud due to the amount of people inside.

And when she saw him for the first time in months, she didn't freak out, surprisingly. Adrien had noticeably lost weight, the lines of his face seeming to be sharper, but it was even more evident when they'd sat down across from each other and he'd taken his jacket off, showing his thin wrists before he pulled his sleeves down.

She wondered whether she'd looked like that before Chloé had told her to eat more.

But other than that, he didn't look as bad as the last time she'd seen him. His hair was washed, no dark circles beneath his eyes, and it was clear that he'd tried to put some effort into his appearance to see her.

It was still unclear to her whether she should resent him or not, but it seemed to be a good sign that she wasn't bursting into tears from the sight of him.

They didn't really make conversation. It mostly consisted of the two of them awkwardly looking at each other before the waiter came over to ask what they'd like to drink, and even after they were delivered and their food order was taken, Marinette was still waiting to see whether he would say something first.

She broke the silence to ask, “Did you just want to see your mother?”

He was visibly startled. “I—what?”

“Is that why you travelled back?” Marinette questioned, looking him in the eye. She wasn't sure what expression she had, but she was determined to get the answers that she wanted—he owed her that much, at least. “To be with her?”

“To see her,” Adrien corrected quietly, raising a hand to touch the nape of his neck. “She... I don't know whether she would've realised who I was if I ever approached her, so I only wanted to see her alive.”

That lead into her next question easily. “Is that why your parents divorced?”

He flinched. “Yes.”

“Who—did you get it from one of them?” she asked, sounding far more calm than she really was. Her heart was hammering in her chest, hands hidden in her lap and scrunching up the napkin she'd taken off of the table.

Adrien's own hand fell down to under the table, no longer in view. “My father,” he revealed, not looking her in the eye. “But he... his reasons for using it aren't something I agree with, and neither did my mother. At least, I think that's why she left. It might've just been because he, well, travelled to begin with.”

For all the times he'd spoken about his father, he'd never really gone into detail with why he'd disapproved of him. “Why?”

“He...” Adrien paused, grimacing. “He intentionally changes things if they don't go according to plan. For the most part, he uses it to change his designs to something better if they flop. It's why he's so successful.”

It sounded so strange, no unbelievable, but she'd seen evidence with her own eyes. “How would—how does it _work_?”

“Okay.” He ran a hand through his hair before putting his elbows on the table, crossing his arms. “Let's say I go back and move—move a mug like last time, yeah? When I come back to the present, it'll just appear there, and the past would've been rewritten.”

She swallowed. “I don't understand.”

He frowned. “With my father, for example. If he releases some clothing that gets a negative response, he'll go back and change it so it was never submitted—therefore it would've never been made. And then, he'll replace that with something else.”

“But—”

“When he comes back to here,” Adrien started, gesturing around him. “To the present, I mean. It'll be completely rewritten with no evidence of it ever existing, other than in some people's memories. But there's nothing to back it up, you see? So, they'll just think that they imagined it. And the ones that really don't remember the first design, it's like nothing has changed for them.”

Frazzled, Marinette pulled down her sleeve to cover her hand. “That's really... confusing.”

“It is,” he agreed. “And it fucks up people's lives. It's not—I've _never_ wanted to do that.”

She swallowed thickly. “But you did.”

“I did,” Adrien confirmed as he met her gaze. “I hurt you without even realising it.”

“But you could've done so much more,” she found herself saying. “Why don't you?”

It looked like he was going to cry again. “Because it's not fair to everyone else. It—it changes everything, no matter how careful I might be, something will always happen because of me going back. It was because of my selfishness that I changed everything for you.”

Her eyes felt itchy. “Why did you do it?”

“I was stupid,” he confessed, voice so quiet that it was almost a whisper. “I found out that—that she'd only recently died, and I wanted... I just wanted to see what I'd lost. I didn't think about anyone else.”

She breathed in sharply.

“I didn't think about you,” he said, voice cracking on the last word. “And I should've. I didn't realise I could hurt anyone until that day in your kitchen.”

There wasn't anything that she could say to that.

“I stopped after that,” Adrien admitted. “Travelling back that far, I mean. I have to... use _this_ to feel okay, so I've stuck to my system that I thought was harmless.”

Marinette weakly pointed out, “Until I woke up.”

“Yes.” And the small laugh he let out was completely hollow. “I just—when I found out that I had to use this at all to feel normal, I only chose to go back for baking since I thought it would be okay. I got too... complacent whenever you stayed over.”

Could it really be considered closure?

Adrien had had such a negative effect on her life, had been the reason for her sobbing her eyes out growing up, but could she really hold it against him when he hadn't meant it to happen in the first place? There was still some lingering resentment for what he'd done, definitely, but he'd—

She'd loved him.

“Marinette, I—” Adrien cut himself off to exhale. “I can... I can try and fix this, if you let me.”

She was audibly confused as she asked, “Fix?”

“I can stop myself from appearing in front of you,” he declared, daring to look her in the eyes with such a serious statement. “I can—it would change _everything_ , I think. I've never... I don't know how it would work exactly, but if I'm capable of doing it, I can only imagine what it would mean for you.”

That—that wasn't at all what she'd been expecting him to say. From his explanation of his father's method of using the power, it had sounded as though the changes weren't immediately recognised—that they had to be researched to see the difference—so wouldn't that mean that she wouldn't think anything was different?

Time-travel didn't make sense to her at all.

“But some remember your father's past designs,” she slowly said. “So, I could remember this.”

He grimaced. “I—maybe? I really don't know the full details of how this works.”

But he was still offering it to her.

Would it really change anything? If there was a chance that she really wouldn't remember it, wouldn't that—that mean that she'd have a completely different life if she wasn't screaming and thinking she was crazy at such an early age?

But if that was rewritten, so as a child she hadn't been terrified, there was a chance that she wouldn't have Chloé.

And if she'd stuck with her education, she never would've moved to such a small part of the city, never would've lived beside him.

Never would've _met_ him.

Her stomach twisted.

“You'd do that?” she questioned breathlessly, staring at him wide-eyed.

He didn't hesitate to say, “If it would make you happy.”

But he—

“If it—if it actually rewrites everything,” Marinette stuttered out, the napkin ripped in her lap. “You'd have never met Chloé again.”

It didn't need to be said that she meant her as well.

He didn't look away as he confessed, “If it can make up for even a fraction of the hurt I've caused you, I'll do it.”

The tears in her eyes couldn't really be stopped from any amount of blinking. The emotions that hit her were hard to ignore, and as she shakily reached out to get more napkins from the table, wiping at her eyes and trying to calm herself down, she really couldn't help but feel like she didn't deserve him.

He'd—he was willing to redo everything just for a chance of her happiness without any hesitation, and that meant ever-so-much.

She couldn't think of many people that would do that for her.

He'd never intended to hurt her. He'd just been foolish, wanting to see the mother that he'd never been able to spend time with, and that only made her cry harder. All the time she'd spent with Emilie could've been with him, and she wondered whether Emilie had ever looked at her and wondered about Adrien, thinking about what he was doing while he was growing up—

“When did this start?” she asked, her voice shaking due to her tears.

“The travelling?” he questioned. And when she nodded, he replied, “When I turned eighteen. My father had warned me about it the year before but I—I always thought I could just get away with not using it after I figured out what he'd been doing all along.”

She was still sobbing when the waiter came with their food.

Neither of them reached for their cutlery.

It was so hard to think about it. “How does... I mean, how does it work, exactly?”

“Oh.” A small laugh left him at that. “It's not as hard as it sounds, really. I just—I just have to think really hard about a time and date, and then I'll appear in the same spot as I'm standing.”

She realised, “That's why you always have bruises.”

“It's not always,” he weakly defended himself. “Sometimes, I forget I put something somewhere and end up falling over. It's harder the further I go back; I can't really research the interior of some place ten years ago or more. It's luck that I haven't hurt myself permanently.”

He was starting to talk about it more casually, seeming to find it easier to be so open with her. Marinette had to ask, “How far back can you go?”

“Only to my birth,” Adrien admitted. “Not that I've gone to see it or something, that would be really weird. I—well, I don't know why it starts then, but I can't go any further than that date.”

Curious, she questioned, “Does that mean there's two of you?”

“In the past alone,” he confirmed. “Not here. I consider this the... present timeline? It's really confusing to think about. But when I've gone back and seen myself in the past, I've never—I don't _remember_ it from the other point of view, only my own.”

Wide-eyed, she could only say, “This is so confusing.”

With a laugh, he nodded. “Definitely.”

“How do you—how do you _cope_?”

“By using it to bake,” Adrien replied. “I can only go back for... I think it's around thirty minutes, so I just do as much as I can, or make a load of dough, and then come back to the present.”

Her brow furrowed. “Are you gone for the same amount of time?”

“Yes, so I'm not accidentally older than I should be or anything.” Adrien gave her a small smile. “Not like in most fiction.”

And to her surprise, she smiled back at him. “That's good, then. It means we're still close to the same age.”

“Almost,” he agreed, grin widening when he caught sight of hers.

She was able to eat a little bit of her food. Adrien saw what she was doing and did the same, slowly and carefully eating his food and seeming to match her while trying not to be too obvious by it, but it was still amusing to see.

And as they just sat in silence, occasionally stealing glances at each other, she realised that she didn't resent him.

It was an honest mistake, wasn't it?

If they'd had the talk a day after their last confrontation, her reaction would've been different. It had been too fresh, too strange to come to terms with, and the truth that he'd been the one to cause everything to go wrong for her unintentionally wasn't something that she could fully process so soon.

And even then, five months later, it was still a little hard to grasp.

“I can't say I forgive you right now,” she started softly, pushing her food around the plate. “But I think I can—in time, I mean.”

He didn't reply to that but she was able to hear it as he dropped his cutlery.

She echoed her thoughts with, “It was a mistake.”

Of all the things he could've said, Adrien had to point out, “You still haven't answered my proposal.”

It wasn't a hard decision, not when she thought it through.

“No,” she answered, looking up to meet his gaze. “No, I don't want a redo.”

Not when she would've lost the happiness she'd had with him, Chloé, and all the other instances in her life that had happened after unknowingly meeting him the first few times. To sacrifice all of that just for a shot to _not_ be different to others, to change so much of her life, wasn't something she wanted to do.

Adrien's voice cracked as he replied, “Okay.”

-x-

After the diner, she started to reach out to him again.

It was a few texts, checking in and asking whether he was okay, the awkward small talk that always started off in the beginning, before she moved onto telling him random facts that she found online or pictures that she found amusing.

And from the way he always instantly responded to her, he did want to talk to her.

Chloé had been dubious when she first told her that she was talking to him again. “Didn't you, like, break up badly?”

“Yes,” Marinette admitted. “But I—we can be friends, I think.”

Adrien had been willingly to sacrifice so much for her—it wasn't just because he'd felt guilty for causing someone such distress, but because he'd _loved_ her. He hated the thought of intentionally changing the future, but he'd offered to do it for her, just for her happiness.

And if that didn't prove how much he cared for her, she didn't know what else would.

The feelings she'd had for him didn't just go away. They'd been smothered by the terrible revelation, but she still smiled when she got a text on her phone and she saw his name. They weren't as close as they were in the past—maybe they never would be—but she did want him in her life.

Was that selfish of her?

He was one of the things that she hadn't wanted to forget, after all. The trauma had been what had shaped her life, and his affection and love had been a changing point in her life, too.

His very being had shaped a lot of her life.

It wasn't a matter of her being dependant on him, though. She'd managed without his love before, could do again, and it was from the support of her family and friends that she'd managed to make it so far in life.

His love hadn't fixed her, healed anything, but it had made her feel happy—and wasn't that what had really mattered?

And as he started to share titbits of his own life again, from pictures of animals he saw on the street to silly remarks that he'd heard or things that had happened with his friends, she was happy that he was opening up to her again.

Chloé was absolutely baffled by them.

“We're friends,” Marinette explained after she'd showed Chloé an amusing picture that he'd sent. “Is that really so weird?”

Chloé wrinkled her nose. “When you two used to fuck? Yeah, it's weird as hell.”

“You're so vulgar,” Marinette accused without any heat.

But they stuck to texts for a while. They hadn't met since the diner, only sending messages to each other, but Marinette wasn't going to complain about that. After so many months of not talking to him at all, it was a gradual development that she was comfortable with.

It was kind of like getting to know him. Adrien included telling her when he was travelling—as he continued to call it—and sent her a few pictures of his work in the mornings, proud that he'd only used it to avoid having to wait for an hour or so for the dough to be ready.

It was kind of cute how he used it, actually. Adrien admitted that sometimes when he ruined the icing in the present, he travelled back to correct the errors.

Still, it did hurt her head a little to think about all of it.

There was a thought that was nagging her, but she didn't address it until a few weeks later. Adrien had continued to text her back, always managing to reply within a few minutes unless he was at work, and they'd started to open up to each other again.

So, she had to ask.

Adrien's response was to call her.

“Hello?” she answered, surprised.

“Hi,” Adrien greeted her, audibly nervous. “Did you—do you really have to ask that?”

She admitted softly, “I did.”

And she really did. While she'd rejected his offer for the chance to keep her own happiness, she hadn't given much thought about whether the two of them keeping in contact would make him happy or not. It had been obvious that he'd felt terribly guilty, and she didn't want to be a constant reminders of all his wrongdoings.

“I love talking to you,” he assured her, voice hushed. “Don't ever doubt that, okay?”

It made her feel a little warm. “This is the first time you've spoken to me in weeks.”

There was a beat of silence before he cautiously replied, “I wasn't sure whether you'd want me to or not.”

“I'm the one that reached out to you, remember?” Marinette pointed out. “I wouldn't have if I didn't.”

“But I—” Adrien cut himself off as he cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

She adjusted her grip on her phone. “Go on.”

“Why don't you hate me?” he asked desperately. “I'm the reason everything happened, but you're—you're _talking_ to me, and I really don't understand why—”

It hadn't really occurred to her that he might not understand her thoughts. Adrien had always been so good at knowing what she was thinking, constantly trying to make sure that she felt comfortable with him, no matter the situation.

“Because I like you,” Marinette confessed. “And you didn't... it was never your intention to hurt me, right? I've got to live with what happened and it just so happens that I like having you in my life.”

There wasn't a reply.

Tentatively, she added on, “If you want me, that is.”

“I'll always want you,” Adrien whispered.

It felt a lot more intimate than it should've.

Marinette took in a deep breath. “Are you sure?”

“You're the best thing to ever happen to me,” he admitted, voice but a whisper. “And I'm so sorry for what I did to you. I don't think I can ever make it up to you, but if you need anything, I just—I want you to know that I'll be here.”

Her throat felt tight. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he vowed.

“And if I...” Marinette trailed off, trying to think of the best way to phrase it. “What if I want a redo?”

There was barely a pause. “I'll do it.”

She swallowed. “What about a redo about dating you?”

It didn't occur to her that it could've been any other way than she'd intended until he quietly replied, “I can—I can make it so I never moved beside you, I guess.”

“No, I—not like that,” she hastily corrected, almost shouting from how shocked she'd been. “I meant... as in, us going on a date again.”

His voice cracked as he asked, “What?”

“It was bad phrasing on my part,” she said, face feeling warm from her mistake. “But I—I still really like you, Adrien. But if things have changed too much, I won't ask for anything more than what we have now.”

For a moment, she thought he wasn't going to answer her. All she could hear was his breathing on the other end before he quietly asked, “After everything... you'd still want to date me?”

“If you want to,” she whispered.

He cleared his throat. “I don't understand.”

“I'm sorry if this sounds selfish but I—” Marinette cut herself off as she ran a hand through her hair. “I was really happy with you, but it... I just needed some time to come to terms with everything. I'm not asking to pick up from where we left off or anything—”

His laughter was weak. “So, a redo.”

“Yeah,” she agreed lamely. “I should've phrased it differently there.”

Softly, he confessed, “I thought you wanted to forget me.”

“No.” Her eyes felt itchy. “You're one of the main reasons I want to remember.”

“Are you sure about this?” Adrien asked quietly. “About us?”

There was a lot that had changed, but the loss of him in her life hadn't been a completely positive one. Their relationship hadn't been toxic, hadn't impacted her negatively, but they'd had to part for other reasons that weren't normal.

His love wasn't something she needed to be okay, but it was a pleasant thing to have.

“I think so,” Marinette answered softly. “But a date is a chance to see whether we're compatible, right?”

She could practically hear his smile as he asked, “It is, is it?”

“I have a feeling we might get along pretty well,” she replied, her own smile curling on her lips. “An inside tip, one might say.”

He laughed. “I hope it's trustworthy.”

“We'll have to find out.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com) ❤~(˘▾˘~) for upcoming teasers/info on how to request a story


End file.
